


The Power in a Name

by Youmightdietrying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youmightdietrying/pseuds/Youmightdietrying
Summary: With the threat of the Night King gone, the unlikely alliances that brought his downfall begin to unravel.  Family lines are drawn, and loyalties tested.  A lowly blacksmith quickly learns the influence a man can wield when the taint of a bastard's name falls away.





	1. Chapter 1

The Long Night. That is what was promised, and long it had been. Gendry had never been more exhausted in his life. He was a blacksmith by trade, used to swinging a heavy hammer all day into an anvil to shape molten steel, but that work was nothing compared to the pure hell that he had just, somehow, lived through. It was no exaggeration to say he had felled over a hundred wights on his own. His body felt like it would fall apart at the seams at any moment. He was covered in every manner of filth imaginable, and yet there was actually a small smile on his face as he leaned back against one of Winterfell’s remaining walls. They had survived. He had not thought it possible beforehand, and certainly not during the battle when their own dead had risen against them. His last bit of hope had been extinguished at that moment. Yet, they had been saved.

It had not been the dragons, their silver-haired queen, or Jon Snow who had done it. It had been the remarkable girl…no woman…that he had met a lifetime ago in King’s Landing. The same one he now realized he was foolishly in love with. Given everything that had happened in the past hours, their heated moment atop sacks of grain felt like it was days ago, yet he could still almost taste her skin, feel her body against his own. If he had died that night, he would have died a content man. Arya was the closest thing that he had to family. His parents were dead, his uncles were dead…he belonged nowhere…or he had. Maybe he did now.

Gendry’s head rested back against the rough, cool stone as he surveyed the carnage below. Piles of bodies stacked one on top of the other, along with the remains of a formerly undead ice dragon. Most of the others were congregating around the great hall, reuniting with those who had been down in the crypts, but some others were still searching through the debris for survivors. He had done his best to assist Tormund and Podrick for a brief time as they sifted through the rubble, before coming to hide away on the battlements to get lost in his thoughts. He shut his eyes, thinking about falling asleep right there, but then footsteps approaching on his right grabbed his attention. He was surprised to see Jon Snow walking towards him.

“Milord,” Gendry acknowledged the haggard man, watching as Jon slid down beside him, Longclaw still gripped tightly in the man’s hand, as if he expected a new wave of the dead to breach the walls at any moment. Gendry had abandoned his own weapon, so if they did, he was fucked.

“I don’t think I’m much of a lord at the moment, Gendry. Jon will do just fine. I’m glad to see you made it.”

“You as well.”

“I think my sister was searching for you,” Jon advised. There was no judgment in his tone, but more than a hint of underlying curiosity, which Gendry was wary of.

“Was she?” He innocently inquired.

Jon nodded. “She told me about you.” At those words, Gendry’s whole body tensed. Jon was going to execute him for lying with his sister. That was why he was here, why he was still holding his sword. He vaguely wondered how many of his bones would break if he hopped over the wall in a bid for escape. However, his worry quickly subsided when Jon continued. “She told me you were with her when she fled the capital after my Father’s execution. You helped keep her safe.”

Gendry managed a nervous laugh. “I’d say she watched my back as much I did hers. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like her.”

“Aye, you’re probably right about that. She has the north in her blood,” Jon remarked, fondly. “Still, you have my sincere thanks for staying with her. Not many men would have done so, or they would have taken advantage of her. Before I left for the Wall, Arya and I were always close. She never cared that I was a bastard. She always treated me like I was family.”

“We seem to have that in common, then.”

“We have a lot in common, Gendry. More than you know. Though,” Jon trailed off, looking straight at Gendry, “I would say Arya's feelings for you are a bit different than hers for me.” 

The tension returned, but Gendry did not falter in his stare back towards Jon. “Does that bother you?”

“You came north with me, journeyed beyond the Wall with me, and defended our home when no one would have questioned if you hadn’t. You don’t have anything to prove to me. I know your measure. If Arya wants to be with you, who I am to stand in her way. You will always have a place in Winterfell.”

“I’m just a bastard,” Gendry argued, feeling the need to put everything out in the air.

“You’re not just a bastard. You’re the son of a king, a man who my Father loved like a brother. I know if he were alive, Ned Stark would approve,” Jon stated.

Gendry was silent for a moment, looking down at his blood-stained, scraped and cut up hands. “That means a great deal.” They dropped off into a companionable silence again, listening to the occasional sound of the wounded calling out, or a survivor giving a drunken shout of jubilation. Finally, Gendry broke the peace. “Not that I mind the company, but what are you doing up here?”

Jon smirked. “Hiding, truthfully.”

“Oh?”

“From counting how many of my friends are dead down there,” Jon remarked, gesturing to the littered courtyard. “From what the hell happens next. All of the political shit, the arguing, the posturing, that led up to this was just a means to get us all here to try and fend off the dead. I don’t know if I honestly ever believed we would win. What if my purpose is fulfilled?”

“What do you mean?” Gendry asked, confused at the meaning.

“I was dead, Gendry. My brothers in the Night’s Watch murdered me. But for some reason I was brought back. I had to come back for a reason. I’ve seen men die, better men than I could ever hope to be, yet they didn’t come back. Arya said that Beric died to save her, that it was his purpose for being resurrected so many times. Well, what is my fucking purpose?”

“There is another queen sitting on a throne in King’s Landing,” Gendry reminded.

“Aye, and one sitting in the great hall of Winterfell, intent on taking it from her. Difference is, the one in King’s Landing has twenty thousand men, and we have less than half that.”

“Then why go?” Gendry questioned.

“Because I pledged myself to her cause. I gave my word that we would fight for her,” Jon stressed.

It must have been the exhaustion of the battle, but Gendry found himself unable to hold his tongue. “No disrespect meant, but these people just battled one hundred thousand dead men. They’ve lost almost everything. If you were them, would you march south for a chair or a place that they’ve never even seen. Take it from me, I grew up there. The place is absolute shit.”

“The Lannisters killed my Father. They’ve torn this country apart,” Jon countered, though Gendry could see the disquiet in his eyes.

“And they likely killed mine as well,” Gendry reminded, though he would not argue that he shared the same bond with Robert that Jon had with Ned. “That does not mean that I’d needlessly sacrifice everyone’s lives for revenge, especially when the numbers don’t make sense.”

“What would you suggest then?”

“You have the north,” Gendry stated. “If Cersei wants it so bad, make her march her army here and take it from you. Regain your strength. Fight on your own terms, not hers, not on Daenerys’. Her army is small enough as it is. The dragons are injured. She’s not going to put the north to the sword, or at least I would hope not.”

“And what if Cersei won’t come? What if she just sits on her throne?”

“The crazy woman blew up her own city with wildfire,” Gendry raised his brow at Jon. “I think there’s little chance she means to be patient. She also bought twenty thousand men. She has to keep paying for twenty thousand men…feed them, house them. She can’t have that much gold.”

“Your words are true, but unfortunately things are not always that simple,” Jon frowned.

“I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with a queen,” Gendry quipped, patting Jon on the shoulder. He gathered his remaining strength and pushed himself to his feet. He started to walk towards the stairs down to the mangled courtyard, but looked back at Jon’s conflicted figure. “Luckily I found myself a proper lady.”

He was sure he heard Jon laugh at that description as he walked away. 

 

He had checked briefly on the others, including a stunningly drunk Tormund still trying to procreate with Brienne of Tarth, before he made his way back to the only place he felt comfortable. He had looked for a hint of Arya, but she had been nowhere in sight. The forge was completely empty, except for a stray pile of ragged bones here and there from a fallen wight. He realized unsettlingly that he may have been the only smith who had survived the battle. He swept the bones away into a corner before relighting a fire in the hearth. Though the Night King was gone, the cold remained as biting as ever in this place.

Gendry removed his armor and shirt, using a basin of clean, freezing water to wash off the layers of grime he had accumulated. When he was through, he felt almost human again. The fire quickly heated the small space, and he walked back towards the small set of smith’s quarters where he had slept the first night of his arrival. He almost jumped back when he entered and saw the small figure seated on the bed. She looked like hell, a large bruise already starting to take shape around her eye, along with a bloody gash on her forehead. Gendry looked into her grey eyes intently for a moment before slowly approaching her.

When he was standing before her, their knees touching, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, relishing in the closeness. He could hear her breath hitch, and then her hand was sliding up his arm until it rested behind his bare neck. Gendry could not restrain himself as his lips quickly found hers, his thankfulness that they were both still alive pouring out into the kiss. They remained locked together for almost a minute before Gendry pulled back.

“I looked for you. Where were you?” Arya asked.

“Contemplating why I was still alive,” he sighed.

“Because I saved your stupid bull-headed life.”

Gendry laughed at the truth of it, dropping to his knees in front of her. “You saved everyone’s life, not just my worthless one.” He sobered and looked in her eyes again. “I’m genuinely in awe of you. One day you are going have to tell me who taught you to kill Night Kings in Bravos. We certainly didn’t learn it on the run from King’s Landing.”

“Maybe another day,” Arya offered, falling back onto the bed. “I’m too tired to think, and my head feels like it was smashed into a wall.”

“It looks like it was,” Gendry observed, concern lacing his tone. He stood from his knees again and walked back into the forge. Dipping a cloth into the water basin, he returned back to Arya, who had closed her eyes. Leaning on the bed, he lifted the dripping cloth to Arya’s eye, wiping away the crusted blood. She hissed at the contact, her eye’s opening and glaring at him. “Sit still,” he ordered. “I don’t want you getting blood on my bed.”

“You know I have my own chambers, right? Nice, warm, comfortable chambers in the keep.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe, but this will do for tonight.”

“I’m glad it meets your rich girl standards.”

“Shut up and finish.”

He ran the cloth over her whole face, removing as much of the grime as he could without causing her additional discomfort. The bruising looked even worse now, but at least the blood and dirt was gone. He threw the cloth away behind him, before beginning to make work of taking off her leather tunic. Soon enough both the armor and the shirt beneath were gone, and her chest was bare, and Gendry once again was enamored with the sight of her freed breasts. He ran his hand up her naked side, just barely grazing the side of one, before moving back down to remove her boots. His own soon followed, and then he laid his body down next to hers. Arya moved back into him, and Gendry pulled a set of furs over the both of them. His arm curled around her middle, ghosting over the scars on her abdomen, then pulling her even closer. He breathed her in, feeling her heartbeat against his arm as the steady rhythm lulled him to sleep.

 

His eyes cracked open, and he was relieved to see that the darkness had finally broken…a new, unexpected day had emerged. At some point in the night he and Arya had shifted. She lay facedown, flat against his chest, her head tucked into his neck. He could not say he minded. She was light as a feather, and the feel of her breasts against him was intoxicating. Before the battle, their time together had been rushed, a haze of lust and desperation before they met their fates. But now it was different. He inspected every mark and blemish on her fair skin, running his hand along her back. Feeling her stir, he turned his body, forcing her onto her back. She looked up at him, and he could see the same want in her eyes.

The last time she had taken control, but this time was different. He claimed her lips harshly, his hand raising to caress her small, but perfectly-shaped breast, the nipple pebbling in between his fingers. His other hand snaked down her abdomen, slipping passed the band of her pants. His palm slid through the nest of her curls until his fingers found themselves delving into the warmth of her. Arya sighed against his lips, encouraging him on until she was writhing beneath him. He pleasured her for several minutes, before his own need consumed him. He fell back on his knees, grabbing onto the side of Arya’s pants and small clothes with both hands and pulling them down and off. His attentions had left her wet, and he groaned as he felt a jolt in his groin. 

Wasting no more time, he rid himself of his own pants. He took his hardened cock in hand, slipping into her with a single thrust. They moaned together as Gendry moved inside her, a steady, unrelenting cadence. He took everything she gave, assaulting her neck with his lips. He felt her coming undone beneath him, and he increased his pace even more, their bodies slapping against one another until Gendry finally lost himself, spilling inside her. He stayed above her for several more moments, before he felt himself slip out of her. Rolling onto his side, he pulled her close again. Their breathing was heavy as they attempted to come down from their heights.

The second time had been even better then the first, and while Gendry was floating, reality slowly began to sink back in around him. While he wished the outside world would go away, he knew it would not…the battles were not over. “Have you thought about what comes next?” Gendry asked.

“The queen will march south,” Arya stated, a touch of disdain in her tone.

“And your brother and your family’s bannerman will be marching with her.”

“My brother is not in his right mind,” Arya argued. “Love does stupid things to people.”

Gendry shifted so that he was on leaning up on his elbow. “Am I stupid because I love you?”

“No,” Arya turned to face him. “You were alway stupid.”

“Hmm. Sorry I didn’t get a proper little lord’s education in a big castle. Had no such luxury in Flea Bottom.”

“You turned out well enough. Not many people could have outfitted an entire army with dragon glass weapons in a couple days. And you fight well enough, or else you wouldn’t be lying with me here now.”

“I spoke with Jon before I came back here,” Gendry admitted.

“About what?”

“Going to King’s Landing. I think you’re right about him being conflicted about the queen.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Startled, Gendry quickly looked up when he realized that it was not Arya who had spoken. Standing to his right he saw Sansa Stark, arms crossed, expression stern, though the side of her mouth was slightly lifted, almost into a grin. Seeing as both he and Arya were both completely bare, he reached over and pulled the furs back over them.

“My apologies, milady,” Gendry stuttered. For some reason Sansa Stark felt much more threatening than her brother. Especially so when lying naked next to her sister.

“No need, Gendry,” Sansa assuaged him. “I spent most of our childhood criticizing my sister. I’ve learned that she is more than capable of making her own choices.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” Arya offered.

“I approve anyway, even if you don’t need it,” Sansa advised.

“Was there something you needed?” Arya questioned, pulling the furs tight to her chest as she sat up.

“We need to build pyres for the dead,” Sansa sobered, her tone softer. “We need as many spare hands as we can get.”

“Of course, milady,” Gendry volunteered. Guilt seeped in as he realized there was so much he could be helping with rather than indulging in pleasurable pursuits,. 

“I’ll leave you to dress,” Sansa announced, beginning to back towards the exit. “And so you know, the queen has ordered a feast tonight, to honor our victory.”  



	2. Chapter 2

Winterfell’s great hall was alive with a level of drunken revelry that Gendry had barely seen before. Casks of wine and ale had been broken open and were being depleted at an astonishing rate. Apparently surviving an army of dead men was an occasion to commemorate, thoroughly. He was only on his second cup of wine, but he was finding it much more interesting to watch the festivities around the hall. At the head table sat the Queen, the Starks and their advisors. While every other table was thoroughly enjoying themselves, the same could not be said for them. There seemed to be a palpable tension, with Sansa, Jon, and Daenerys not even looking at one another. Gendry noticed that Arya had somehow managed to escape the tension by not being in the hall at all.

Deciding that he would much rather attempt to locate his newfound lover, Gendry stood from his place next to the thrilling conversationalist that was the Hound, and moved towards the front of the hall. No one spared him a glance as he moved slowly through the crowd, but as he passed the head table, a voice called him back.

“Gendry.”

He stopped suddenly, and his body seized up. He knew that voice. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the Queen staring straight at him. The woman had never said a word to him before, and yet she was calling him out specifically in front of everyone. As if realizing this fact, the entire room quieted down into a low thrum. Gendry turned and walked until he stood directly in front of the Queen.

“Gendry Waters, correct?” The Queen asked again.

Gendry bowed his head as he spoke. “Yes, your grace.”

“From all reports you fought bravely against the army of the dead,” Daenerys commented, her voice echoing through the room. “You were also vital in crafting the obsidian weapons for our army.”

“I just did my part, your grace. Like every other man and woman here.”

“Modest,” the Queen smiled, before her expression dropped into a frown. “You are also the son of Robert Baratheon.”

Gendry stiffened again, and he was sure that his eyes may have popped out of his head. The hall had quieted completely now. He looked quickly to Jon, who seemed to be just as confused as he. “Bastard son, your grace.”

“Still, the son of a King, usurper or not, and of the Lord of Storm’s End. Did you know that your father attempted to have me assassinated?”

“I never met my father, your grace,” Gendry argued. “I could not rightly tell you anything my father may have done or not done.”

“My own father was not a good man,” Daenerys confessed. “I would not hold you responsible for your father’s actions.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“In fact,” the Queen began, “it would seem that with Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, and Renly Baratheon all dead, that you would be the next in line to inherit the position of Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Bastards can’t inherit, your grace.”

“They can, if they are legitimized by a royal decree,” Daenerys corrected. “As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and for your heroic service to the realm, I hereby proclaim that Gendry Waters shall henceforth be Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.”

Gendry stared at the Queen in shock, unable to move or utter a word. The hall remained silent, and out of the corner of his eye, Gendry saw Davos rise from his chair, cup lifted high. “To Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End!” Then the hall erupted, and Jon had thrust another full cup of wine into his hand. Men slapped him on the back and Tormund had him in a bear hug, lifting him up off of the ground. All through it Gendry was in a state of complete disbelief. He was a fucking lord! It was madness. A bastard boy from the streets of Flea Bottom was now the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. However, elation quickly turned to dread as he realized that he had no clue how to be a lord. The reality crashed upon him, and he made his way toward the entrance, desperate to seek out the one person he needed most.

Just as he was about to exit into the cool night air, someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him backwards. He was only able to see a head of elegantly braided red hair as the person pulled him into what was some sort of storeroom. It was lit by just a handful of candles, but as the door was shut the visage of Sansa Stark was clear to him.

“Milady,” Gendry stuttered.

“Lord Gendry,” Sansa emphasized. “I apologize for dragging you away, but I felt it only right to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“I do not mean it as a slight, but you have not spent your life around people like Daenerys or her advisors. I have. I’ve spent years in the clutches of people like Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish. I know how they think. If you want to survive in this world you must.”

“And this has to do with me…”

Sansa looked at him sternly. “You are Robert Baratheon’s son, and you have done a remarkable service to House Stark and the north. You deserve to be Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry. That does not mean that there were no ulterior motives for the Queen doing it, making a spectacle of it.”

“She’s using me,” Gendry surmised.

“Not yet, but she will,” Sansa answered confidently. “I don’t know how she found out about your parentage, but it was certainly not Jon, Arya, Davos or I who told her. Which means it was somehow either Tyrion or Varys, and they would have a reason for doing so. You are the son of a king, a potential threat to her throne. You also love my sister and are friends with my brother, which they believe will put another friendly voice in House Stark’s ear.”

“I would never betray House Stark. I would never betray your sister,” Gendry almost growled, the accusation insulting.

“You wouldn’t because Arya would slit your throat,” Sansa assured. “I’ve seen her do it.”

“So what do you want?”

“I don’t trust my brother,” Sansa stated bluntly. “I trust that he did what he thought was right by allying himself with the Queen, but surrendering his crown, our people’s crown, in the process and committing our people to her cause was a mistake. His judgment has been addled by his lust for her, and we did not name him King to force us to kneel before a foreign Queen.”

“So what do you mean to do about this?”

“I mean to refuse to send our people south with the Queen,” Sansa responded. “I am the Lady of Winterfell. The houses of the north owe their allegiance to House Stark, and I owe my own duty to them. They will remain in the north, until I say that they don’t.”

“What of Jon?” Gendry asked, both the seriousness of the topic and the wine starting to make his head spin.

“Jon can do what he feels is best. I will not try to stop him, but he does not have the will to stand up to the Queen. I do, and I will.”

“And your sister supports this?”

“Arya loves Jon, but she knows where her loyalty lies, and that is to House Stark. The Targaryens burned my grandfather alive and murdered my uncle. We will not kneel to House Targaryen, especially to a woman whose sole ambition her entire life has been to sit on a throne because she felt entitled to it.”

Gendry rubbed his eyes, trying to stem the emerging headache. This was much more than he had asked for when he had stepped into the great hall that night. Maybe some food and wine, but not this. “What is it that you expect me to do? I’m just one man.”

“I want House Baratheon and House Stark to stand together like they did years ago. There are men in the Stormlands who will stand behind the son of Robert Baratheon. You need to rally them for when the time comes.”

“What time? What are you talking about?” Gendry despaired.

“For when Cersei Lannister destroys Daenerys Targaryen,” Sansa explained.

“What? You don’t think she will win? She still has two dragons.”

“She has one healthy dragon and another that’s wings have been torn to pieces. Cersei Lannister has been sitting comfortably in King’s Landing alone for months, with all the time in the world to plot and scheme her way to stay on that bloody throne. They all underestimate the lengths that she will go to. The Queen underestimates her, Jon underestimates her, and Tyrion underestimates her. I know her. She is going to win, and when she does, she will come for us. When she does come, we will meet her on our own terms. With a healthy and whole northern army…and hopefully with our allies standing beside us,” Sansa finished, looking pointedly at Gendry.

“The Queen is going to expect me to march with her. Especially after that display in the hall.”

“I know you are a strong fighter, but the Queen won’t lament the loss of a single man. Tell her you intend to go to Storm’s End to rally your bannerman to march against Cersei.”

“Lie to her.”

“Not a lie,” Sansa responded. “No one said anything about rallying them to her cause.”

“This is a dangerous game,” Gendry lamented.

“It alway is,” Sansa agreed. “But either you play the game or your die, there is no middle ground.”

“I need to think on this,” Gendry sighed.

“Think quickly. There is to be a war council tomorrow evening. You must make your request and leave before the council meets… before I confront her. I will be the one to face Daenerys’ wrath. And there is one more thing that I must ask.”

“What is that?” Gendry worried.

“Convince my sister not to go to King’s Landing. She is intent on finishing this list of names she started, but I don’t want her dying in some foolish attempt to murder Cersei. Make her see reason, Gendry. If she will listen to anyone it will be you.”

“I’ll do my best, but your sister is stubborn.”

“A Stark trait, unfortunately,” Sansa smiled, before turning serious again. “There is another you should seek out as well.”

“Who is that?”

“Ser Davos.”

“Ser Davos? He’s Jon’s Hand.”

“Jon is no longer a king, so he has no need for a hand.”

“Davos is too loyal. He wouldn’t abandon Jon.”

“Davos was loyal to House Baratheon before he served Jon. He went out of his way to protect you, Gendry. He has great affection for you, and his home is in the Stormlands, not in the north. You should seek him out. He’s served Jon bravely, and if he were to ask, Jon would let him go.”

 

After getting some directions from Sansa, Gendry found himself standing outside a large wooden door within the keep. Looking below the door, he could see the light flickering from the burning of a fire inside. He rapped his knuckles against the door and stood back. A moment later the door opened, revealing Arya in a simple shirt and trousers, her dagger held in hand.

“Looking to stab me?”

“Have you done something to deserve it?”

“Not yet, but give me time. May I enter your chambers?”

Arya stepped aside, and Gendry moved through into the bedroom. He took a seat on the softest bed he had ever felt, watching as Arya re-latched the door. She moved towards him and took a seat next to him.

“You are now sitting next to the Lord of Storm’s End,” Gendry declared without any preamble.

“What?” Arya asked.

“The Queen decided to legitimize me in front of everyone in the middle of the feast. I’m now to be referred to as Lord Gendry Baratheon.”

“She’s trying to buy your loyalty,” Arya responded.

“Wow, not even a congratulations,” Gendry remarked. “At least your sister did, before she proceeded to drag me into a plot that’s likely to wind up with me burned alive by a dragon.”

“Sansa is right. Even with our soldiers, the Queen does not have the men to lay siege to King’s Landing and win. She is going to march south and be defeated. I’d much rather she lose without getting our men killed as well…men who never chose her to be their queen in the first place.”

“You’re willing to abandon Jon?”

“We aren’t children anymore. Decisions have consequences, and Jon made his when he knelt.”

“What about you?” Gendry inquired. “Have you made your choice?”

“About what?”

“You want Cersei Lannister dead. Your sister says you mean to go and try and do it yourself.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business,” Gendry fumed. “I love you Arya, truly, and so does your sister. I don’t want to see you die on your own in that city just to cross a fucking name off of a list you started in your head when you were eleven.”

“That list kept me going for a long time.”

“You’re not alone anymore, Arya. You don’t need a list to keep you going. You have your family back now…you have me. We aren’t on the run anymore.”

Arya stood, pacing across the room. Her arms hugged her body, as she shifted from one foot to the other. Finally, she turned back, her eyes unsettlingly vulnerable. “What am I supposed to do?”

Gendry moved towards her until he could place a soothing hand on each of her arms. “Marry me. Come with me to Storm’s End. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, and I could use someone I trust implicitly.”

“Marry you?” Arya frowned. “I’ve told you before Gendry, I’m no lady. That isn’t me.”

“It’s a title, Arya, not a death sentence,” Gendry pleaded. “It doesn’t mean you have to change who you are. You don’t have to wear dresses and you can swing a sword, and shoot arrows and hunt as much as your heart desires. I’m not going to stop being a blacksmith just because I’m a lord. It’s who I am. I would never try to change you that way either.”

“And what happens when you call your banners and march to war? Am I to wait patiently in our chambers like a good little wife for you to return?”

Gendry’s hands trailed up her arms until they had a firm but gentle grip on the back of her head. He crushed his lips to hers briefly before falling back. “You are the deadliest fucking woman in the whole Seven Kingdoms. If I was marching to war, I would have you right beside me. I’d make you ever manner of weapon your heart desired.”

“You promise?” Arya asked, still breathless from the kiss.

“I promise. So let me ask again.” Gendry dropped to a knee and grabbed her hand. “Arya Stark, would you be my wife?”

“I can’t believe I am saying this, but yes.”

“Yes?” Gendry repeated, needing to hear it again.

“I said yes. I won’t repeat it again.”

“No need.” He stood and grabbed her around the middle, holding her close. “Now, I’m going to throw you onto that unnaturally comfortable bed and make love to you.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. I need you to take my mind off this crazy plan that your ruthless sister has concocted that is likely to get me killed.”

“Daenerys would be dead before she managed to touch you.” 

Gendry looked into Arya’s eyes, and knew the words were the absolute truth. It just made him love her even more…and also scared him just a little.


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry had left Arya in her chambers to begin packing her belongings for the journey they would start on the morrow. He had considered remaining in bed and watching her do so, but had decided that with so little time it would be wiser to get something accomplished…or at least attempt to. While the revelers were still clearly enjoying themselves outside, their shouts and guffaws still audible, he knew Davos was unlikely to spend the entire night drinking, or suffer himself to remain around those who were. Gendry knocked on the Onion Knight’s door, and was thusly not surprise to see the man just about ready to tuck himself into his own bed.

“Davos,” Gendry greeted the man.

“Lord Gendry,” Davos smiled. “To what do I owe the honor? I would have guessed you’d be spending the evening with our resident hero.”

“She sends her regards,” Gendry answered. “Actually, that is one of the reasons I’m here. Would you mind if I came in? This is cannot be overheard.”

Looking concerned, Davos nodded. “Of course.” He stepped aside and allowed Gendry into the room that was much more spartan than Arya’s chambers, with just a bed, chest and small table. The two men took a seat across from each other at the table. Davos poured them both a cup of wine. Each man took a hearty sip and then stared at each other.

“We best take one more,” Gendry advised.

“That bad?”

“Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Oh. One more just in case then.” The two men lifted their cups and drank again.

“I’m going to be married, Davos.”

Davos stared at him blankly. “You’ve been a lord for five minutes, and you’re already getting married.”

“To Lady Arya Stark,” Gendry grinned, raising his cup again. “Don’t tell her I called her a lady. It took too much damn convincing to blow it now.”

“Well, congratulations,” Davos stated. “You certainly couldn’t do any better.”

“I’m not sure I can tell if that is a genuine compliment or a back-handed compliment?”

“If you think I would risk insulting Lady Stark, you’ve lost you’re damn mind.”

“I thought so.”

“So, I can understand your obvious excitement, but shouldn’t you be celebrating with your intended? Couldn’t this conversation wait until the morning?”

“I need you, Davos,” Gendry stated, garnering a queer look from Davos.

“I’m not sure I get your meaning…”

“I need you to come with me.”

“Where?”

“Storm’s End. Arya and I are leaving for Storm’s End tomorrow.”

“You won’t be marching with the Queen?”

“If you have any regard for me at all, Davos, then what I’m about to say does not leave this room. You have to promise me.”

Davos sighed and looked to ceiling. “I’m definitely not going to like this,” he said to himself before looking back at Gendry. “Alright. I swear myself to secrecy. Let’s have it.”

“Lady Sansa is not going to commit the remaining northern army to march south with Daenerys.”

“She’s told you this?” Davos asked, leaning forward.

“She has,” he confirmed. “She doesn’t think Daenerys can beat Cersei, and she won’t send her men to the slaughter.”

“What about Jon? The queen has named him Warden of the North. Isn’t that his decision?”

“Jon isn’t a Stark, and his judgment isn’t exactly clear at the moment.” Mine probably isn’t either, he thought to himself. “Who do you think the remaining Northern lords are going to side with? The rightful Lady of Winterfell or the bastard son of Ned Stark who gave up his crown to a Targaryen Queen? Not to mention the Knights of the Vale are loyal to Sansa, not Jon.”

“We’d be dead now without Jon,” Davos argued, defensive of his former king.

“Most likely,” Gendry agreed. “But do you really want to have survived the Night King and his army of dead men, only to die trying to lay siege to King’s Landing with an inferior force full of tired, wounded men who don’t want to be there?”

“It’s not an ideal combination, I’ll give you that,” Davos conceded.

“We don’t have the numbers, Davos. And Sansa was right, Cersei is fucking ruthless. I was in King’s Landing when she unleashed the wildfire on the Great Sept. I’ll never forget that fucking day until the day I die. Why march right into her hands?”

“So what is this grand plan that you and the Stark women have come up with?”

“We rebuild our forces and make Cersei come to us. Sansa will bring together the remaining northern lords, and Arya I will go to Storm’s End and try to bring them into the fold. That would bring together the North, the Vale, and the Stormlands against Cersei.”

“Do you know anything about the Stormlands?”

“Not much, but I’m bringing a properly educated lady assassin with me, and I’d like to bring an old man who knows the place. I need you Davos. The place is your home. I know you respect Jon, but you shouldn’t needlessly give your life to the Queen just because he has.”

“And how exactly do you plan to just walk away from Daenerys after she legitimized you?”

“I’m going to lie to her.”

“You’re going to fucking lie to her?”

“I’m going to tell her that I’m going to to rally the Stormlands to fight against Cersei. I’m just not going to tell her that they won’t be fighting at her behest.”

“For some reason I can see your lips moving, but Sansa Stark’s voice coming out of them. You’re a good boy, Gendry, but you sure as hell aren’t a cold-blooded schemer. And this, this is a scheme. What happens if by some chance Daenerys wins? What then?”

Gendry shrugged. “If she wins, then it won’t matter, and she’s none the wiser. We stay and live our lives in Storm’s End. I’m sure she’ll still be mightily pissed at Sansa, but Sansa can handle herself.”

“I’m much too old for this shit.”

“All the more reason not to march in a beat-up army of Unsullied and Dothraki dregs to King’s Landing. Would it help if I also said that I’m now your liege lord, and you must obey my command?”

“This lord business has gone to your head,” Davos grumbled, stealing another sip of wine.

“A little,” Gendry chuckled. He stood up from the table and looked down at the aged knight. “I’ve said my piece, so I won’t bother you anymore tonight. It would be a great honor if you came with me…with us. I owe you my life Davos, and I’ll be forever grateful, whatever you choose to do.”

“Thank you. Best decision I ever made was putting you in that damn rowboat. I couldn’t save Shireen, but at least I saved one Baratheon. I need time to think on this madness, but you’ll have my answer in the morning.”

Gendry patted the man on the shoulder affectionally as he walked by. “Sleep well, Davos.”

“Not bloody likely now.” 

 

It was early morning the next day, and Gendry found himself standing at the window in Arya’s chambers, staring out into the emerging sunlight. It was good weather for traveling, no flake of snow in sight. He and Arya had meticulously planned out their journey after he returned from his recruiting mission with Davos the night before. They would ride to White Harbor, and from there take a ship to Braavos. It would be a risk taking a northern ship all the way south, especially with Euron Greyjoy’s fleet protecting King’s Landing. However, sailing south on a merchant ship out of Braavos was unlikely to draw much unwanted attention from anyone. Trade between the ports of Westeros and Essos was quite common.

Gendry finished lacing up his leather jerkin as an unashamedly nude Arya looked up at him from her bed. “It’s still early, you know?” She reminded him, a yawn escaping her lips.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gendry replied, reaching down for the fine fur cloak that he had managed to acquire. He slipped it over his shoulders, and Arya hummed appreciatively

“You look like a proper northerner now.”

“Shame we’re going south then,” Gendry reminded her. “Won’t need quite so much fur from now on.”

“Only thing you’re missing is a sword,” Arya noted.

“Never been much good with one.”

“How is a man whose made swords his whole life not at least decent with one?”

He shot her a look. “I can hold my own with one, but I’d never beat an experienced knight. With a hammer, that’s a different story.”

“You’re a lord now Gendry. No lord husband of mine is going to embarrass me with inferior sword fighting. We’ll have plenty of time to practice on the journey south.”

“Of course, wife.”

“Not yet.”

“Soon enough. I figure hosting a wedding between House Baratheon and House Stark would be a good way of gaining allies when we arrive.”

“Probably won’t hurt,” Arya admitted, grudgingly. “Though if you think there’s going to be a bedding ceremony, you’ll find my dagger properly jammed in your guts.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. Now why don’t you get dressed so we can go get this over with?”

“That worried, are you?”

“I’m not sure I’m the best liar.”

Arya finally rolled from the bed, standing in front of Gendry. She looked him squarely in the eye, though his own were fighting the battle to not look south. “Listen to me. She needs to believe you, which means you need to believe you. Convince yourself that the words are the truth. Be yourself, and don’t try to sound like something you’re not. You’re a ruddy blacksmith from Flea Bottom, not a high lord…not yet anyway. So that’s what you should be.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gendry promised.

“I know you will,” Arya said, reaching up to rub his stubbled cheek.

A short time later, the pair walked side by side into the great hall where the morning meal was under way. Unlike the evening before, the amount of occupants had greatly decreased, seemingly as many were sleeping off their drink…one still passed out in a corner. The high table was fully occupied though, and for them that was enough. Sansa spotted them first, giving them a meaningful look before her eyes strayed back to her breakfast. The rest of the table was much more curious to see he and the hero of Winterfell entering together.

“Well look who it is,” Tyrion Lannister sounded, raising his cup, “Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. I trust you two celebrated last evening, thoroughly.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” Gendry nodded, ignoring the innuendo, as he and Arya reached the table, standing directly across from Daenerys and Jon. “If I could beg a word, your grace, my lord?”

Daenerys gave a brief look to Jon before turning back to Gendry. “Of course Lord Gendry. What is it can do for you?”

Gendry took a deep breath, gathering himself before he began. “Your grace, I can’t express my gratitude enough for the honor you’ve given me. I never in my dreams expected one day that I would be a lord.”

Daenerys smiled at the thanks. “A well-deserved honor.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Gendry reached out with his left hand and placed it on Arya’s waist. “I have to say that I received an even greater honor last night when Lady Arya agreed to be my wife.” That announcement drew excited whispers from around the hall, and even those at the high table exhibited various reactions. Sansa simply smiled, as if it were no great surprise, and it likely wasn’t if Gendry had to guess. She had told him to do what was necessary to prevent her sister from going to King’s Landing…mission accomplished.

Tyrion and Varys simply gave each other a calculating look that Gendry found to be unnerving. Jon looked almost taken aback at the idea that Arya had actually agreed to be someone’s wife, while Daenerys smiled, although there was something that almost resembled jealousy or bitterness in her eyes.

“Congratulations, Lord Gendry and Lady Arya,” Daenerys finally offered.

“Yes, congratulations sister,” Jon followed. “Though, honestly I did not think I would live to see this day.”

“Nor I,” Arya smirked. “Things change.”

“A toast is in order then.” Jon stood from his chair and raised his cup. “To the future Lord and Lady of Storm’s End.” The people in the hall raised their cups and drank to the pair.

“Your grace,” Gendry began again, “there is one more thing I would ask.”

“Of course.”

“I understand our families have had their differences, as you made known last night. However, our houses do share a common enemy, in the false queen who sits on the Iron Throne.” Gendry was also very aware that said enemies brothers were both seated in the room. “Cersei Lannister murdered my father, the head of House Baratheon. The Stormlands are no friends to the crown.”

“And what is it you are asking, Lord Gendry?”

“I would request that you grant me leave to return home to unite my bannerman against Cersei. Since the death of my uncle, there has been no leadership in Storm’s End, and I believe I could rally our forces to oppose Cersei.”

Daenerys turned and looked to Tyrion. “What does my Hand think?”

“I cannot claim to know the full dynamics of the Stormlands after Renly and Stannis tore them apart with their dueling claims of kingship,” Tyrion admitted. “That being said, having another thorn in my sister’s side would be useful to our plans.”

“We would leave today, your grace,” Gendry continued. “The sooner we arrive the better to get a handle on the situation there.”

“And I am assuming as Lord Gendry’s intended, you would be traveling with him as well Lady Arya?” Daenerys asked.

Arya bowed her head, clearly trying to contain her irritation at being referred to by her title. “I would, your grace. Having both a Baratheon and a Stark may help to convince the Lords to join the cause against Cersei.”

Daenerys turned this time and looked to Jon. “And what do you think of this proposal?”

Jon looked torn at the idea of parting with Arya after having just reunited, but he nodded his head. “It’s a good plan. Having another ally in the south would be an advantage.”

“Very well,” Daenerys stated. “Lord Gendry and Lady Arya, you have my blessing on your marriage, as well as your request to travel to Storm’s End. May your efforts to restore your home prove fruitful. Lord Varys will prepare a document with my signature and seal to evidence your new status, should anyone prove resistant to your claim.”

Gendry and Arya both bowed this time. “Thank you, your grace.”

As Gendry and Arya moved to find a place at one of the other tables to indulge in a hearty meal before their travels, Gendry watched as Ser Davos suddenly stood from his chair. Gendry immediately felt his spirit lift.

“My lord?” Davos garnered Jon’s attention.

“What is it, Ser Davos?” Jon asked, though there was something of a foreboding in his tone.

“It’s been a great honor to serve you, Jon. I’ve not met many a man better and more honorable. That’s why this request is so difficult.”

“Go ahead and ask it, Davos,” Jon encouraged, slumping slightly back into his chair. “Though I have a feeling I already know what it is.”

“My home is in the Stormlands. I’ve spent many years away from it, and I’d like to see it again before I die. I also have great affection for Lord Gendry, and I know I would be of much more use to him as he takes his place as Lord of Storm’s End, than as a soldier.”

Jon stood from his chair and turned to the Onion Knight. “You have my blessing, Ser Davos,” Jon said with barely a hesitation. “You’ve served me well and been a truly loyal friend. I would not deny you a chance to go home…and finally get warm.” Jon stepped forward and embraced Davos tightly, true loss on his face. The impact of recent events were beginning to take their toll on him. “I’m trusting you to look after Gendry and my sister.”

“With my life,” Davos promised. The men sat again, and Gendry caught Davos’ eye. He tried to reflect his gratitude in the nod he gave back. Sansa too reached out and placed a hand on Davos’ arm in thanks. Davos was a little slower to return Sansa’s thanks, as he was clearly aware that the whole situation had been put in motion by her.

Gendry turned his attention back to his breakfast, and reached to pull a piece of freshly baked bread off of a platter. The table lurched slightly and he saw Ser Brienne and Podrick take a seat across from he and Arya. The lady knight smiled proudly at Arya.

“It seems congratulations are in order, Arya,” Brienne stated. “Though with you in the south, it will be difficult to fulfill my promise to your mother to protect both of her daughters.”

Arya looked pleadingly at Brienne. “My sister will need you more than ever, now,” Arya asserted. “You have to promise me you will protect her from all of her enemies…no matter who they might turn out to be.”

Brienne looked at Arya in confusion, but nodded her head all the same. “All of her enemies. I will miss our sparring sessions though.”

“Me as well,” Arya smiled. “You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. And you knocked the Hound on his arse, so I’m even more impressed.”

They fell silent for a time as the four dug into the their respective meals. Eventually, Brienne put down her cup and spoke again. “I think I do have a solution to my impasse as to how to protect both of Lady Catelyn’s daughters.”

“Oh? What would that be?” Arya questioned.

Brienne looked to her right to Podrick who was otherwise still engrossed in his meal. “Podrick will accompany you on your journey.” The man in question had just taken a bite and subsequently choked for a moment before he managed to clear his airway.

“Ser, I’m your squire,” Podrick stuttered, clearly distressed. “I could not possibly abandon you now.”

“You aren’t abandoning me, Podrick,” Brienne sighed. “I’m telling you to go. And you aren’t my squire any longer.”

“Have I done something to displease you?” Podrick worried.

“Quite the opposite,” Brienne smiled. “As Ser Jaime said, any knight can make another knight. So when you are done with your breakfast, we are going to go out into the courtyard and I am going to knight you…Ser Podrick Payne.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Podrick gaped.

“You don’t have to say anything. You’ve been a good squire and you’ve proven yourself in battle bravely. I’ve dragged you all over this country, and it’s time for you to go your own path.”

“I’m honored you think me worthy of a knighthood.”

“Yes, well I may keep the part quiet where you were knighted by a woman,” Brienne suggested. “That may be acceptable here in this small circle, but it’s like to be a subject of ridicule elsewhere.”

“Not in Storm’s End,” Gendry interjected. “You’re certainly welcome to join us on our journey.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Podrick grinned, excitement at the idea starting to sink in.

“Gendry is fine, Podrick. You best eat quickly, because we mean to be on the road as soon as possible.”

“Right,” Podrick nodded. He took one more bite, a swig of wine, and then stood up looking expectantly at Brienne. “Ready when you are.”

“Go pack your things Pod,” Brienne sighed. “I’ll meet you in the yard shortly. Some of us don’t eat quite that fast.” Podrick nodded, quickly scampering out of the hall. “Be patient with him,” Brienne requested. “He still has some things to learn.”

“As do we all,” Gendry noted.

 

A small contingent had gathered in the courtyard to see their group off. Gendry and the newly minted Ser Podrick Payne finished preparing the last of their six horses for the journey, one for each of the riders, and another two to carry their luggage. Gendry was forced to put a limit on the amount of weaponry that Arya had been set on bringing, fearing the poor horses would collapse beneath it. When the animals were set, Gendry moved over to where Arya was standing with her siblings, Ser Davos, and Ser Brienne. Daenerys stood off to the side with her retainers more as a spectator to give the Starks time to say goodbye.

“Well, this is it,” Arya began, a heaviness beginning to settle in among them. Everything had happened rather quickly.

“It is,” Sansa nodded, her voice thick with emotion. She stepped forward and embraced Arya tightly. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you as well,” Arya whispered. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

“I know,” Sansa replied. She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a silver chain. On it was a silver direwolf pendent with a ruby set in the eye. She moved and placed the chain over Arya’s head. “Since I cannot be at your wedding, I figured you should have something to remember your home with.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” Arya choked out, her hand going to the pendent. “Protect our House.”

“Always,” Sansa promised, moving forward to embrace Gendry as well. “Take care of my sister.”

“I promise,” Gendry stated.

“I’ve sent a raven to Lord Manderly to expect your arrival,” Sansa advised. “He’ll see to making arrangements for your voyage.”

Sansa stepped back and allowed Jon to step forward to embrace Arya. The two stayed locked together for a long time, before finally moving back. They exchanged a meaningful look, but neither appeared able to say words of goodbye.

Jon moved to Gendry and offered his hand, which Gendry took. “Good luck,” Jon offered. “Have a safe journey.”

“Thank you, Jon. I appreciate you taking me in as you have.”

As Gendry looked over, Arya had bent down to embrace Bran in his chair, who looked as far off as ever, though he did smile gently at Arya’s contact and the kiss she placed on his cheek. When Arya finished saying goodbye, the young lord looked over at Gendry and he felt as if someone was looking deep into his soul.

Gendry felt the hair on arms stand on end when Bran actually spoke. “I have a son, you have a daughter. We’ll join our houses…sometimes things take longer to come to fruition than originally expected, but all will be right in the end.”

Bran trailed off and his expression disappeared into nothingness again. Those standing around him were left in befuddlement. Gendry, still feeling like Bran was present within his mind, subtly shook his head.

Feeling like there was nothing else left to be said, Gendry moved to his horse and mounted quickly. He adjusted his cloak, watching as Arya took her mount next to him, Needle and her now legendary dagger on her hip. He nodded to Tormund and the Hound who had just entered the courtyard. The ginger wilding raised his drinking horn, while the Hound remained his surly self and did not offer even a twitch of an eye.

Gendry spurred his mount around towards the destroyed gates of Winterfell. His three companions fell in around him as they set a slow trot. All were silent as they passed the charred ashes from the funeral pyres that had turned their heroic dead to dust. They would be part of the north for eternity now. Gendry looked back briefly at the remains of Winterfell and silently wished Sansa luck in restoring her home. He was now intent on doing the same to his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Gendry looked down in trepidation as he slowly encouraged his horse across the frozen waters of the White Knife. The ice looked thoroughly solidified, and Arya had assured that it would hold, but it still gave him pause. They had decided to stay off the Kingsroad, and instead head southeast along the Sheepshead Hills. Unfortunately, this also meant crossing over a frozen river. Arya had advised that during summers the waters were usually traversable by boat to an extent, but with the extreme winter chills, it was an immovable block. He looked across the bank to Arya who was staring at him expectantly and pushed his horse the remaining few feet, until he was safely across.  
  
“Told you,” she grinned.  
  
“I was hoping you were right,” Gendry advised, pulling up beside her. “Especially when you being wrong would have meant me freezing my arse off at the bottom of the river.”  
  
“I would have pulled you out eventually.” They stood and waited as Podrick and Davos, each leading one of the spare horses, made it across the river next. Just as they crossed, Gendry felt something wet land on his nose. He looked up and saw that flakes of snow were beginning to fall gently around them. He hadn’t noticed before, but the sky had turned a deep white, and that darkness was beginning to invade.  
  
“Looks like a storm,” Arya warned, following Gendry’s eyes. “We should probably find a place to hunker down for the night.”  
  
“You think we could make White Harbor if we ride hard?” Davos questioned.  
  
“Maybe…maybe not,” she answered. “It’s not worth risking the horses though, and I’d rather not be frostbitten when we arrive.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Davos conceded. “I’m running low on fingers as it is.”  
  
Gendry looked over to the base of the hills. “We may be able to burrow in there,” he pointed out. “Might give us some protection from the wind.”  
  
They rode south a bit further, until they found an ideal spot to stop, right between where two of the giant hills converged. They tied off the horses to several dead trees. Pod and Davos saw to covering the horses in thick blankets, while Gendry and Arya saw to putting up the two tents that they had brought for the journey. Gendry knew he and Arya would be much more comfortable in the small enclosures than Davos and Podrick were like to be.  
  
They struck up a fire, and pulled out the bag of provisions that they had brought with them from Winterfell. It wasn’t fancy, just some loaves of bread and dried meat, but to Gendry it was filling enough after a full day of riding. Beside him, he noticed that Arya was barely picking at the original piece of bread he had handed to her. Running his hand behind her back he asked her, “You alright?”  
  
She startled slightly at the contact, but looked over at him. “Fine. Just thinking about Sansa. I figure it’s happened by now.”  
  
“You don’t think Daenerys would actually harm her, do you?”  
  
“Not immediately. Jon wouldn’t allow her to, and Brienne would cleave Daenerys in half. Once she gets back on her dragon…that’s a different story. It’s too bad the Night King didn’t finish them off before I ended him. I loved the stories about them when I was young, but the real thing is terrifying. No one should have that kind of power.”  
  
“Am I missing something?” Podrick asked, following their conversation in confusion.  
  
“Sorry, Pod,” Gendry offered, throwing a skin of wine to the knight. “I forgot you hadn’t been informed of the chaos we just left ahead of.”  
  
“What do you mean? Is that why you warned Brienne this morning?”  
  
“Yes,” Arya took over for him. “Sansa is going to refuse to send our soldiers south with Daenerys.”  
  
“She’s not going to like that,” Pod responded, unnecessarily.  
  
“No, I imagine she’s going to be quite angry,” Arya muttered.  
  
“And just so I’m clear, are we really going to Storm’s End, or is that a ruse as well?”  
  
“That part is the truth,” Gendry confirmed. “However, we’re not going to gather soldiers for Daenerys. We’re preparing to fight against Cersei in the likely event that Daenerys is defeated.”  
  
“And we think she’s going to lose?” Podrick pondered, clearly doubtful.  
  
“I don’t think anything is a given,” Davos chimed in. “The dragons are an unknown, but she’ll be vastly outnumbered in soldiers. Her fleet has been mostly destroyed, and Euron Greyjoy has the entire Iron Fleet sitting in Blackwater Bay. If I was a gambling man, I wouldn’t put my money on her.”  
  
“Never thought I’d see the day I’d be gambling on Cersei Lannister,” Arya fretted. “Still, better Cersei with an army of sell swords than a mad Targaryen with dragons. She has herself convinced that she’s some benevolent ruler, but all she wants is that damn throne. She may have freed slaves in Essos, but she put them right in her army afterwards and made them call her queen…queen of cities she had no claim to. It’s not noble when you expect payment in return.”  
  
“Are you certain Jon will follow her?” Pod questioned. “Winterfell is his home.”  
  
“He’ll go,” Davos answered with certainty, hands reached out over the flickering fire. “He loves Daenerys, however foolish it is or not. I fear the fallout between he and Sansa will be too much for him to stay. They’ve clashed ever since we defeated the Boltons. This’ll be the final straw for them. Even if he survives the journey south, I doubt he would return to Winterfell.”  
  
“Are you certain he won’t try to depose Lady Sansa?” Pod asked, clearly conflicted over having left Brienne alone.  
  
“He won’t,” Arya responded, taking a look over her shoulder towards her home. “No matter what his queen has named him, Bran is the Lord of Winterfell, and if not him it falls to Sansa as Lady. Jon has no claim to my Father’s seat. He would not betray my Father’s memory by betraying his children in their own home. No matter how well the queen fucks him.”  
  
They sat around the fire for another hour before the storm began to pick up in force, a blindingly thick snowfall attacking them. After making sure the horses were suitably bundled, Gendry followed Arya into their tent. It was cold inside, but it at least blocked out the worst of the wind. Arya had laid out furs on the ground to wrap them in, and they each added their outer cloaks on top. Once they were both underneath, Gendry dragged his body until it was firmly molded behind Arya. His arm reached around and tucked underneath her shirt, his hand laying against her taut stomach.  
  
“I’m not going to fuck you five feet away from Podrick and Davos in this ruddy tent,” Arya muttered, even as she made the effort to press herself further back against him.  
  
“I’m not an animal,” Gendry chuckled, placing a kiss against her neck. “I do have some self control.”  
  
“That’s what all men say.”  
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it was you who threw yourself at me the first time.”  
  
“If you ever want to bed me again, you should probably not argue with me.”  
  
“Is that how it’s going to be when we’re married? I’m to agree with you even when you’re wrong.”  
  
“I’m never wrong, so it won’t be an issue.”  
  
“Of course not.” He dropped his head against the furs beneath him and listened to the howling winds outside. The tent walls were blown in and out as the wind swirled around them. It was distracting at first, but eventually the steady sounds cleared his head and he was able to relax. He could not say the same for the woman next to him. Her body was tense, and he could almost feel her thinking.  
  
“Are you alright?” His hands moved up and down her stomach until he was tracing the raised skin of her scars.  
  
“Feeling guilty for leaving Sansa,” she admitted. “Worried the next time I see Winterfell it will be burned to ashes.”  
  
“That won’t happen. Daenerys is going to go south, and Sansa is going to restore the castle to its former state. You Starks are survivors.”  
  
“Only some of us, unfortunately.”  
  
“I didn’t say you were invincible,” Gendry added. “You suffered losses like most have in recent years, but it was House Stark leading the fight against the wights, even with all you’ve lost.”  
  
“Speaking of houses,” Arya shifted the conversation, “you better start learning about the ones in the Stormlands.”  
  
“Are you giving lessons?”  
  
“Yes. We’ll start with House Caron of Nightsong, black nightingales on a yellow field, House Dondarrion of Blackhaven, purple lightning on a black field…

 

The storm had stopped by the time they woke in the early morning, but it had left at least a foot of snow in its wake. It was slow going as they packed their camp and restarted their journey, the horses trudging through the white powder. It was midday before they finally got their first glimpse of the white-washed stone walls and buildings that made up White Harbor. There was a greater amount of activity and people as they drew closer. Many of the northerners who had not come to Winterfell had escaped south behind the walls of the north’s only true city. With the Night King’s defeat, it seemed that many were beginning the journey back to their own homes, or what was left of them. Lord Manderly himself had returned to White Harbor prior the battle of Winterfell, but he had sent a small force with Jon on his journey with Daenerys. Gendry could not recall seeing many of those unfortunate soldiers still standing after the battle.   
  
Their party passed through the crowd of travelers with little fanfare, but Gendry bet if these people knew that it was Arya Stark riding beside him, they would give her more than a passing glance. There were several Mandarly guards, equipped with their customary trident spears, congregated at the gates to the city when their group finally arrived. Seeing as Gendry and the others were the only ones around on horseback, they instantly drew the attention of the guards. One of them, a stocky man with a giant red beard, stepped forward to greet them.  
  
“Welcome to White Harbor,” the guard stated. “Do you have business in the city?”  
  
“Lord Manderly is expecting our arrival,” Gendry responded. “I’m Lord Gendry Baratheon. This is Lady Arya Stark, Ser Davos Seaworth, and Ser Podrick Payne.”  
  
“Yes, milord,” the guard bowed. “Lord Manderly advised of your impending visit. If you allow me just a moment, I’ll grab my horse and escort you to the castle.”  
  
“That would be appreciated…”  
  
“Deran, milord,” the guard bowed again before he disappeared behind the walls.  
  
“Lord Gendry Baratheon,” Arya imitated with a haughty accent. “That sounded almost natural from your lips.”  
  
“Are you going to mock me every time I sound like a fool?”  
  
“All lords sound like fools, usually,” Arya consoled. “Only some actually are.”  
  
“Oh, am I one of the fools?”  
  
“Fortunately not. I intend to keep you that way.”  
  
“Do you make it a habit of coaching hopeless lords?”  
  
“Only the ones I’ve agreed to wed.”

Deran returned a moment later, seated atop his mount. Gendry pushed his own horse forward as the Manderly guard led them properly into the city. He had to admit the place was pleasing to the eyes, if not a touch monotone in color. The streets were wide and remarkably clean in comparison to King’s Landing, though truly that was not saying much. He enjoyed taking in the new sights, the storefronts, the inns, the traders. White Harbor was the north’s main port, and the diversity of people ambling through the city was evident, especially those dressed in fancy silks who clearly had underestimated the climate.  
  
They slowly moved through the city until they began ascending the Castle Stair, a street made of gradual steps that led up to New Castle, the seat of House Manderly. Just as the rest of the city, it was made of clean, white stone with high towers standing tall above the whole city. They passed through an inner gate that led to the impressive entrance to the castle. Standing at the entrance was a tall, grey-haired man, wearing a surcoat with the merman of House Manderly emblazoned on the center. Several other guards stood behind him, as well as what looked to be the castle’s maester. Gendry and the others dismounted and approached the group of welcomers.  
  
“Welcome to White Harbor,” the gray-haired man stated. “I am Ser Marlon Manderly, commander of the city garrison. My Lord cousin apologizes for not greeting you personally, but he will be joining you for a feast tonight to celebrate your arrival.”  
  
“No apologies necessary,” Arya stated. “Has there been any word from Winterfell, Ser Marlon?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, we did receive a raven this morning, my lady,” Ser Marlon answered, looking back at the maester. “Theomore, did you bring the scroll?”  
  
“I did, Ser Marlon,” the maester answered, reaching into his robes and pulling out a rolled parchment. Theomore came forward and Arya received the message.  
  
“Why don’t you allow us to show you to your quarters?” Ser Marlon suggested. “You will be able to peruse the message in privacy.”  
  
Arya looked ready to break the message open immediately, but was able to stall her eagerness. She eventually nodded. “That would be appreciated, Ser Marlon.”  
  
“No problem at all, my lady,” the knight smiled. “It’s an honor to host the daughter of Ned Stark. I’m sorry to say that Jon Snow’s visit was not as welcomed by our people.”  
  
“I can agree that playing host to dragons, Dothraki and Unsullied is not ideal.”  
“Indeed, my lady,” Ser Marlon frowned. “Come, let us not dally out here any longer.”

Apparently the news of his impending marriage to Arya had not spread as far as White Harbor, because Ser Marlon had raised his brow when Arya informed him that the two would only require a single room. Seeing as Arya was indifferent to potentially scandalous rumors, Gendry made sure to mention that the two were to be wed. Ser Marlon had simply nodded and offered his congratulations, leaving them to get settled. Unlike the rooms in Winterfell, which were simple and practical in design, the chambers in White Harbor were decorated much more lavishly. The furniture was beautifully carved, and their were tapestries on the wall depicting naval skirmishes and mermaids. Gendry was particularly fond of the view out into the harbor, watching as ships entered and unloaded their wares. He could see in the outer harbor where Daenerys’ ships were still resting at anchor.  
  
Forcing himself away from the enchanting scenes, he looked back to where Arya was perched on their bed, the scroll of parchment unrolled in her hands. He moved towards her and took a seat beside her. He made no move to try and read over her shoulder, allowing her privacy to finish taking in the words. Eventually, she simply held out the parchment to him, which Gendry took and stared down at.

_Arya,_

_I trust this letter finds you well, and that your journey to White Harbor was without delay. I dispatched this as soon as Daenerys concluded her War Council this evening. Unfortunately for her, it did not go as planned. She announced her command to march south within a day’s time, as expected. Though I had held out some hope that Jon would not be quick to acquiesce to her, he immediately committed the northern forces to her, without regard to their condition. They were not prepared for when I informed them that our men would not be going anywhere. Daenerys raged at our apparent betrayal, and Jon attempted to overrule me, but our bannerman have stood behind us. They will not march to King’s Landing. I believe that some men may volunteer to follow Jon, but it will be few in number. There is no love for the queen here._

_Daenerys made threats of consequences when she took her throne, and Jon confronted me afterwards about the promises that were made. I was quick to inform him that those were his promises, and not the north’s. He surrendered the authority that we entrusted him with. Words were said that cannot likely be taken back. It is unfortunate, but our duty is to our people, not to Jon, and not to a queen whose family our own deposed. I must warn you not stay in White Harbor longer than necessary. Daenerys intends to march her remaining forces back to the port and sail south to Dragonstone, from where she will organize her siege of the capital. I must ask that you warn Lord Manderly of her arrival, and the stand we have taken against her. Please send a raven when you arrive in Storm’s End so that I know that you have arrived safely. There will be much to plan. Please be safe. Give Gendry, Ser Davos, and Ser Podrick my regards._

_Sansa Stark,_   
_Lady of Winterfell_

  
Gendry handed the letter back to Arya, who immediately stood and walked over to the table where a single candle was burning. The flame ate the paper quickly as she held it above.

“I don’t know that we could have expected it to go better,” Gendry finally interrupted.  
  
Arya nodded as she walked back to him. He reached up and took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, soothingly. “Part of me hoped that Jon would not be swayed by her, but deep down I knew it would happen.”  
  
“It’s not your fault. Jon made his choice, and he will have to live with it, however it ends. You never know, whatever Daenerys felt for him may have been because of what soldiers he could add to her army. I hope for his sake not, but she wants that throne more than anything. Targaryens aren’t known for their mental stability.”  
  
“There’s no changing it now,” Arya sighed, leaning down to kiss him. She pulled back and looked toward the door. “We still have some time before dinner.”  
  
“We do,” Gendry nodded.  
  
“Good.” Arya spoke no more, reaching down and slowly pulling his shirt above his head. She hurriedly removed her own shirt and pants, until she stood completely bare before him. Staring in awe at her naked form, Gendry stood, turning them and pushing her back onto the bed. He kissed her lips once, heatedly, before his mouth trailed down to latch onto one of her pert, dark pink nipples.   
  
His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, making his lover moan and grab onto his hair. He switched and gave the same attention to her other. Agonizingly slow, his kisses trailed down her belly until they were hovering just above her core. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, and the scent of her was addictive. His eyes looked up, and he saw that Arya was staring hard back at him, her expression both nervous and begging him to continue. Obliging, he moved his lips and tongue forward until he feasted on her. His hands moved up to grip her thighs as she writhed on the bed. He thoroughly enjoyed every taste, and the moans coming from the bed were music to his ears.   
  
He kept going until he felt her body shake, and then she was pushing him off. She sat up on the bed, pulling him to his feet. Her hands grabbed at his pants, pulling them down to his knees. She wrapped her hand around his hard manhood, gliding it up and down repeatedly. Arya leaned backwards again, pulling him forward until they were aligned just in the right way. He pushed himself inside her, and sighed at the feeling of being joined with her again.  
  
Later, when they were both sated, Gendry rested with his back against the headboard, Arya situated between his legs, leaning back against his chest. “I feel like that gets better every time,” Arya mumbled.  
  
“That’s because it does,” Gendry laughed.  
  
“Was it as good with those other girls in King’s Landing?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Are you just saying that because I’m the one currently in your bed?”  
  
“I never loved those girls, Arya,” Gendry explained, needing to stomp down this sudden bout of insecurity she was feeling. “When you’re a bastard in King’s Landing, you don’t think about things in the future…you live day to day, just hoping to get to the next one. Those girls were just sex, just a pleasurable escape for a few minutes. I couldn’t even tell you their names.”  
  
“So you were just using them?”  
  
“We used each other,” Gendry bit back, unhappy with her characterization. “It is possible for a woman to seek out a man…as you are well aware.”  
  
She turned in his arms, until she was looking at him with a wry smile. “I’m just teasing you. It’s enjoyable watching you squirm.”  
  
“You’re a cruel woman, Arya…beautiful and dangerous, but cruel.”

 

Freshly bathed and dressed, Arya and Gendry rejoined with Davos and Podrick, each man looking more refreshed than when they first arrived. The guards standing outside the Merman’s Court, the great hall of New Castle, opened the doors as the four of them approached. Gendry was not sure what he had expected, but inside the hall, there were only three people seated at a single table. Two of the men were massive, their bellies huge and jutting up against the table. The other man was Set Marlon, who stood as the four of them approached the table.  
  
“Good evening,” he greeted them, before looking back to the men at the table. “My lords, may I introduce Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, and Sers Davos Seaworth and Podrick Payne.”  
  
“Welcome,” the older of the two fat men at the table spoke. “I am Lord Wyman Manderly, and this is my son and heir, Ser Wylis. Please come take a seat. Our cooks have prepared a bountiful spread, and I’d hope we could indulge before we get into more important matters.”  
  
Indulge Gendry did. The Manderlys had gone out of their way to prepare more dishes than Gendry could name. The fish and crustaceans were delicious, better than Gendry had ever tasted in his life. His companions seemed to think so as well, pulling something from each platter they could reach. An hour later, and everyone at the table had full bellies, and the wine pitchers were considerably diminished. Gendry felt like he could slide to the floor and sleep for the remainder of the night. Luckily he was saved from potential embarrassment by Lord Wyman, who decided now was the time for business.  
  
“Lady Arya, we received the raven from your sister informing of your visit and the need for a ship. I’ve arranged for my fastest ship and best captain to be at your disposal. You can sail as soon as tomorrow, if that is what you desire, though you are welcome to stay in White Harbor for as long as needed.”  
  
“I’m afraid staying is not an option, my lord,” Arya responded. “My sister, as Lady of Winterfell, has refused to send the northern army south with Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys’ army has been severely diminished due to the fight with the Night King, and our own men are beaten and injured. We will not send them to their deaths to fight for a Targaryen crown.”  
  
“I see,” Lord Wyman answered, rubbing his hand along one of his man chins. “And where is Daenerys’ army now?”  
  
“Preparing to march back to White Harbor so that she can board her ships and sail to Dragonstone.”  
  
“Does Jon Snow march with her?” Lord Wyman questioned.  
  
“He does.”  
  
“And when he arrives, I assume he will be seeking to take my men with him?”  
  
“I cannot say for certain, Lord Wyman, but I would assume his queen would attempt to force the issue.”  
  
“I seem to find myself in a bit of an impasse. When I was last at Winterfell, I knelt and pledged my loyalty to Jon Snow as King in the North.” Lord Wyman looked over to Davos. “You were there Ser Davos. You were Jon Snow’s Hand. Am I to take back my oath now?”  
  
Davos looked down into his wine cup, and Gendry could see he was thinking deeply. The decision to abandon Jon had truly been a hard one. Which was why Gendry knew the words that left Davos next were difficult. “You pledged yourself to Jon Snow as King in the North, however, Jon is no longer King in the North. He abandoned that title, the one you and your fellow lords gave him. The truth of it is, Jon surrendered the title when he didn’t have to. Only when he fell in love with Daenerys did he give the title up. She flew beyond the Wall without Jon needing to surrender his title. She would have fought the wights without him surrendering his title. Sansa Stark is the rightful Lady of Winterfell. She has not bent the knee to Daenerys. Your allegiance is to House Stark, not House Targaryen.”  
  
“So what you’re saying is that my soldiers should remain exactly where they are?” Lord Wyman asked.  
  
“They should, Lord Wyman,” Gendry continued. “Daenerys doesn’t have enough to beat Cersei. When Cersei wins, she is going to march her army north, and try to force it into submission. There will be more wars to come, but they will be on our own terms.”  
  
“We will need your soldiers when the time comes, my lord” Arya pleaded.  
  
“And what role does House Baratheon play in all this?”  
  
“Arya and I are to be married,” Gendry explained. “House Baratheon and House Stark will be joined, and we will join our forces together against Cersei.”  
  
“Thus the voyage to Storm’s End, my lord,” Arya added.  
  
Lord Wyman looked to his son, and then to his cousin, both of them nodding in some silent agreement. The Lord of White Harbor then looked back to Arya. “House Manderly has stood with House Stark for generations, and we will not falter now. If Lady Sansa has ordered that the armies of the north are to remain in the north, then that is where mine shall stay.”


	5. Interlude: The Lady of Winterfell

Sansa stared down from her place atop Winterfell’s battlements, watching with clear satisfaction as the remnants of the Unsullied and Dothraki formed up into lines, beginning their march south to the coast. For Sansa, there was no denying that these men had played a pivotal role in the survival of the north, as had their queen. Yet, there was something about the silver-haired woman that created an unease within Sansa. It was the woman's lust for power that would not be contained or reasoned with, the feeling of entitlement. Sansa’s people had only just faced the most horrifying test of their lives, yet the queen had given no care to their condition, to what they had suffered and lost. To Daenerys, her presence in the battle had been just a contract…her men now, for the north’s later. Jon had agreed to those terms…Sansa had not.  
  
She looked down to where Jon was packing his horse. Her thoughts quickly wandered back to the evening before, to the vicious war of words that had escalated between the two. The word “traitor” had been bandied about by both. His queen had all but threatened the destruction of their home for not commanding that all northern soldiers march with her to their deaths, yet he had defended his queen…his lover. Jon was blind to reality…blind to what that woman was…a conqueror. The Starks had overthrown the dragons for this very reason, to cleanse the madness out of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa would not bend the knee to that madness again.  The north would not be conquered.  
  
“Will you try to talk to him again before he leaves?” Ser Brienne asked from her customary spot next to Sansa. The fearsome knight had not left Sansa’s side since the previous night’s chaos, even stationing herself in front of Sansa’s chambers through the night.  
  
“I fear Jon is lost,” Sansa sighed, watching as the hundred northerners who volunteered to follow Jon formed up around him. “It was like there was something within him that was broken, like he was battling something. We fought so hard to take back our home, yet it takes just a word from a foreign queen for him to abandon everything he’s ever known.”  
  
“And what of Daenerys?” Brienne questioned. “I was there last night. I don’t mean to question your judgment, my lady, but those threats by the queen were real. Winterfell was built to repel sieges, my lady, not dragons. Look at what she did to poor Sam’s father and brother, burned alive with barely a thought. She has shown she has no problem with destroying great houses.”  
  
Sansa stared off into the distance where the queen’s dragon glided through the air. It was clear, even from a distance, that the smaller dragon was having trouble maintaining direction with it’s injured wings. “We need to make sure that they never come back,” Sansa stated, resolute.  
  
“And how do we do that?”  
  
Sansa looked to her right and stared Brienne in the eyes. “By any means necessary. I will protect my home and my people from those who wish us harm.” Sansa turned and walked slowly, but determinedly across the battlements and back towards the keep. She was aware that Brienne was still on her like a shadow. Sansa entered her chambers and took a seat at her desk. She pulled a piece of paper and pen in front of her. The words were in her head, yet she struggled to transcribe them onto the paper. Once this was done, there was no coming back from the consequences. Her thoughts briefly turned to Jon, to Tyrion, to the hundred northmen… but she realized that they had made their choices. It was time to make hers. Eventually the words came…

_I have spent years thinking about what I would say to you if I was ever granted the opportunity. Your family has taken my Father, my Mother, and my Brother away from me. I hate you with a passion that I cannot describe. Yet I am also grateful for the lessons you’ve taught me in what it takes to survive in this world, to the depths we must reach in our own souls to get by. For instance, I’ve learned that sometimes the enemy of my enemy is my ally…for a time at least. In consideration of that fact, I offer you the following information. Daenerys Targaryen is on her way to White Harbor with what little remains of her army of Dothraki and Unsullied. Her entire army will travel south by sea within the next few days for Dragonstone, from where she will launch her attack against King’s Landing. She has only two dragons remaining, one of which was severely maimed in the Battle of Winterfell and can barely fly. They will never be weaker than they are at this moment._   
_I hope that you will listen to this information and act accordingly. Rest assured, I am aware that this settles nothing between us. It certainly does not for me. There will be a day when we meet again. I look forward to it, truly._

_Sansa Stark_   
_Lady of Winterfell_

Sansa’s hand shook slightly as she rolled the parchment and affixed the seal of her house. She had not closed the door upon entering her chambers, and Brienne stood but feet away from her desk, staring at Sansa in concern. She held out the scroll to Brienne, who took it hesitantly.

“Brienne, would you be so kind as to take that to Maester Wolkan?” Sansa asked, attempting her best to appear unaffected. It was not easy.

“And where should I say it is going, my lady?”

“To King’s Landing…to Cersei Lannister, with all haste.”


	6. Chapter 6

Gendry had to admit that he did not mind sea voyages so much when he wasn’t forced to row the boat…large sails and a crew of experienced sailors worked much better as far as he was concerned. The ship that Lord Manderly had supplied them, the Ice Maiden, was a large galley, one of the few ships that White Harbor maintained in its small fleet. The ship had probably seen better days, with its weathered wooden hull, but it had given them a smooth ride so far. 

The chill of the north had begun to ebb away as they sailed east, and Gendry inhaled deeply the fresh sea air. He looked over at Davos, the older man’s hands perched on the rails, and noticed that the Onion Knight was clearly at home on the sea as well, staring out into the choppy blue waters.

“Enjoying the view, Davos?” Gendry questioned.

The older man smiled, not taking his eyes away. “Must confess that I am. Never thought in my life I’d see myself at the Wall, or defending Winterfell from the dead. This is something I find much more comforting.”

“Ever been to Braavos?”

“Oh, aye, many times,” Davos grinned. “Beautiful city. I believe your lovely bride has had her own adventures there, from what I’ve heard.”

Gendry felt his face darken. “She has…I’ve seen the scars.”

Davos held up his mangled hand. “We all have scars, lad. We tend to learn from them. Might be Arya would never have gone on to defeat the Night King without earning hers. Speaking of the lass, where has she disappeared to?”

“Still in our cabin,” Gendry replied.

“Sea sick as well? Poor Podrick was still retching up his guts when I came up.”

Gendry shook his head. “No, she’s still upset with the situation with Jon. When we saw the dragons in the distance as we left White Harbor, it just reminded her of it again. She’s likely poking holes in the side of the ship with her sword.” Gendry had been thoroughly relieved that they were gone when Daenerys arrived. He doubted that Lord Manderly was much enjoying her second visit any better than the first. The Lord of White Harbor had sent the majority of his men north under the guise of helping the people who had retreated south resettle their lands.

“Jon doesn’t have the temperament for politics,” Davos muttered. “I love the boy, but the perfect place for him truly was being Lord Commander of the Watch…no politics, just do your duty. Reminds me of Stannis a bit, honestly.”

“How so?”

“Both set in their ways, live by a code,” Davos answered. “Then both of them inexplicably fall for women obsessed with burning things, and it all goes to shit. The gods have a cruel sense of humor.”

“Didn’t work out well for Stannis,” Gendry added, not that he lamented the loss of his uncle. He still remembered the leaches, vividly.

“Burned his daughter alive, lost his army…lost his life,” Davos recounted. “Doesn’t speak well to Jon’s future, if patterns hold true. Especially now that there’s no one left to bring him back from the dead.”

“The Starks are all stubborn. He may still make it out,” Gendry offered. “How long has it been since you were home Davos?”

“Too long,” Davos sighed. “Not since the Battle on the Blackwater. Haven’t talked to my wife since my sons were killed in the battle. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Do you have other children?”

“Two sons. They were still at my keep the last time I was there. Couldn’t tell you if that was still the case. I certainly would not blame my wife if she had left. I cared more about pleasing Stannis than I did my own family.”

Gendry placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’re a good man Davos. I’m sure your wife and children are still there waiting for your return. Helping defend the realm from the Night King was a good reason to be away.”

“I do hope so.”

Gendry stepped away, intent on leaving Davos to his thoughts, when he heard his name called. He turned and saw Arya with a sword clutched in her hand.

“What is that?” He questioned as Arya stood before him.

“This is for you,” she stated, pushing the sword into his hands. “I told you we would be training.”

“Now? On a swaying ship?”

“No better time,” Arya said, pulling Needle from her belt. “Things don’t tend to stand still in battle.”

“The ground usually does,” Gendry muttered, pulling the sword from its scabbard. It wasn’t fancy, just an ordinary bastard sword.

“Come on Lord Baratheon. Let’s see what you have,” Arya taunted.

Shaking his head, Gendry moved around so that he was far away enough from the edge of the ship and any of the passing crew members. He gripped the sword with two hands and faced his smaller, yet more experienced, opponent…and soon to be wife. She smirked at him, sword in her left hand while her right arm was held behind her back. Seeing that she was set to wait for him, Gendry stepped forward with his right foot and swung with a diagonal overhead strike from his right side. His blade impacted Arya’s smaller one, but only for a second, as she let his sword slide by. She spun to her left in a full turn, and Gendry felt the tip of Needle pressed to his neck.

“Why did you do that?” Arya questioned, pushing the tip a little firmer into his skin.

“Do what? Fucking lose?”

“No. Why did you hold back on your strike?”

“I didn’t,” Gendry lied.

“You did,” Arya argued dropping her sword and facing him again. “I’m smaller and faster than you, but you’re much stronger. You need to use that to your advantage. Keep me away from your body.”

This time Arya attacked first, lunging at his gut. Gendry, taking her words to heart, swung his sword with overwhelming force, knocking Needle clear away to the side, but also swinging his entire body to the left. He had temporarily lost his balance, and the next thing he knew, he felt a boot striking the back of his knee. Suddenly he was on his back on the ship’s deck, Arya standing over him with Needle hovering above his heart.

“That went well,” he sighed.

“Too much strength,” Arya scolded. “Be aware of your opponent. You’re swinging at me, not the Mountain. You always want to be in control of your movements. If you lose your balance, you’re dead. Be confident, but don’t overreact.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

 

Gendry used his shoulder to push open the door to their cabin, two bowls of the hearty fish stew the ship’s cook had whipped up in his hands. Arya was seated on their small bed, back up against the ship’s hull. She was polishing Needle with an old cloth. He pulled the cabin door shut again with his boot, before handing off one of the bowls.”

She put down her sword on the floor. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Gendry said, sitting beside her. “I figured you would be starving after beating me so thoroughly today. My body still aches.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Arya smirked, before taking a spoonful from her bowl. “This is good,” she remarked. “And you weren’t that bad. You’re movement was much better by the end. Once you learn to move your body the right way, using the sword will feel much more natural. It’s much different than swinging a war hammer.”

“Well, I couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me. I won’t take it any easier next time.”

“Didn’t expect so,” Gendry replied, digging into his own dinner.

They finished their food in silence, just enjoying the gentle sway of the ship as it moved on towards their destination. Eventually he noticed that Arya’s eyes were far off, her thoughts clearly somewhere else.”

“What has you so distracted?”

She startled at his question. “Nothing. Just memories.”

“Are you nervous about going back to Braavos? I know the last time you were there, it did not end well.”

“Not nervous…no.”

“Do you regret leaving?”

“No. I thought it was what I wanted…to be No One. I’m grateful for what I learned, because I would not be here without it. But I don’t want to be No One. I want to be Arya Stark…I want to be part of my family. I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger. I never got to properly say goodbye to my parents, or Robb, or Rickon. Things tend to change your perspective.”

“Getting older tends to do that. We all wish we could change things. You shouldn’t judge yourself too harshly for it.”

“Oh, and what is it that you wish you could change?”

Gendry looked down at his hands, somewhat embarrassed at this thoughts. “I wish I hadn’t been separated from you for years…that I had been able to get you back to your family.”

Arya frowned. “Gendry, you shouldn’t regret that. I was just a girl you crossed paths with in shit circumstances. You never owed me anything.”

“I didn’t. But you were the closest thing I ever had to family…or a friend. I never knew my father, and barely have memories of my mother. The fact that you even cared about me was more than I had ever known. I shouldn’t have walked away from it.”

Arya moved over until she was beside him, bringing his head down to her level. She brushed her lips against his, before tucking herself under his arm. “We both made it back to each other,” she whispered. “Fuck the past.”

Gendry laughed, pleased for the reprieve in discussing heavy things. “Fuck the past. Though, should we be worried about any unhappy acquaintances in Braavos? Nobody who wishes to settle scores because of your abrupt departure?”

“No. I repaid my debt before I left.”

 

“Wow,” Podrick exclaimed in awe from beside Gendry, as they approached the imposing Titan of Braavos. Gendry agreed with Pod’s sentiment. The structure was unlike anything Gendry had ever seen. He almost fell backwards when a great roar sounded out of the giant figure.

“Don’t worry,” Davos said from beside him. “The thing roars every time a ship approaches the harbor.”

“They couldn’t think of something more pleasant? Maybe a choir of children?” Gendry grimaced, rubbing his ears to try and stop the ringing.

The Ice Maiden slowly made its way into the harbor, and Gendry got his first look at the city of Braavos. Instead of one solid stretch of land, the city was made up of islands all connected together by numerous bridges and walkways. There were more ships than Gendry had ever seen, big and small, some docked and others traversing around the harbor. They passed a large island, upon which was built a fortress that stood guard over the harbor, heavily armed and housing a fleet of ships. They continued on a stretch before turning right into another branch of the harbor. There were numerous docks where merchant ships were coming and going, packing and unloading their wares. Their captain steered the Ice Maiden into an empty dock and the deckhands were quick to lower the gangplank and tie off the ship.

The four went back below to their cabins to grab their packs. Gendry watched in confusion as Arya packed away Needle and her dagger. “You’re hiding those away?”

“You don’t walk around in Braavos wearing weapons unless you plan on using them,” Arya explained as she closed up her pack. “If you do, it’s a signal to others that you’re looking for a fight, especially at night. They’ll leave you alone otherwise.”

“Good to know,” Gendry said, lifting up his own pack.

“That’s not to say I don’t have a knife tied to my forearm under my shirt.”

“Not surprising, but also good to know.”

Climbing back up to the main deck, they met Davos and Podrick, who had both also stashed their weapons away. They offered their thanks to the ship’s captain and descended down the plank into the port. It was bustling with activity, and Gendry found himself fighting through the crowd to try and stay with the others. They eventually steered themselves into an alcove where they were able to speak.

“Why don’t the three of you see about lodgings for the night?” Davos asked. “If you follow this street up until you reach the next bridge, bear right and you’ll find the Inn of the Green Eel. You should find something suitable there.”

“Where will you go?” Gendry questioned.

“To find us a ship,” Davos answered. “It’s been awhile, but I still know a few places where we’ll have a good chance of finding a reputable captain.”

“Should I go with you?” Podrick asked.

“I’ll be fine. It’s easy to blend in here.”

Gendry watched as Arya fished into her pack and pulled out a small bag. She threw it to Davos, who caught and peaked inside. “That should be enough to book us passage and comfortable cabins. Sansa made sure we were well taken care of,” Arya noted.

“This will certainly do it,” Davos said, jingling the coins, before slipping the bag away. “I’ll meet you at the Inn when we’re set.” Davos turned and disappeared back into the crowded street.

They followed Davos’ directions until they stood before a large stone structure. Above the door was a painted sign bearing a painted green eel. Gendry pushed open the door and entered into a large room filled with tables and patrons indulging in food and drink. A fat, bald man with a large mustache and wearing an apron approached them as they stepped in.

“Welcome to the Inn of the Green Eel. What can I do for you?”

“We need two rooms for the night,” Gendry answered.

“Rooms three and four on the second floor are open. I’ll grab you the keys,” the proprietor stated. “We offer food as well. Best in town.”

“Uh, sure,” Gendry nodded. “Food would be good…and ale. Enough for four of us.”

“Perfect,” the man nodded. “Find an empty table and I’ll be back with your keys. I’ll also need to collect payment beforehand.”

Gendry looked around the room and found an empty table tucked away in the corner. They quickly claimed it for themselves and stored their packs beneath the table. While they were waiting for the proprietor to return with their keys, Gendry felt a soft hand run up his back to his neck, and finally landing on his shoulders. He turned his head and found himself staring at a woman’s chest. A woman’s very large chest, that was barely contained in an almost transparent dress. He looked up into the face of blonde-haired woman who was looking at him alluringly.

“Hello, love,” the woman greeted, loudly. “Would a fine looking gentlemen such as yourself fancy a trip upstairs? I’ll do anything you like for a reasonable price.”

Gendry simply stared at the woman for a moment, dumbfounded as to what to say. Luckily, Arya had no such issues. She pulled up her sleeve, revealing the knife that was still tied to her forearm. She gave the woman a look that would send most running. “I’ll give you five seconds to remove your hand from him before I take this knife, cut your hand off, then shove it up your cunt. I’ve already started counting…” The poor woman recoiled back instantly, backpedaling and heading for the opposite side of the room.

Gendry turned and raised his brow at Arya. “I think a simple no would have sufficed.”

“Probably,” Arya shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been as satisfying, though.”

“And you were worried about me trying to turn you into a lady. You’re becoming a little possessive.”

The innkeeper returned with their keys, and they settled up on payment. A few minutes later and a serving girl brought large cups of ale and steaming meat and vegetable pies. They ate quietly, watching the patrons in the Inn come and go. As it got later in the day, the Inn became more crowded. It also got to the point where Gendry began to worry over how long Davos was taking to arrange a ship.

“I can’t tell if it’s the three cups of this strong ale I just drank, but I’m beginning to think something is wrong,” Gendry noted, staring at the Inn door and waiting for his friend to walk in.

“It’s been a few hours at least,” Arya noted. “It didn’t take that long to book passage on a ship when I was here last…especially if you know where to look.”

Just as Gendry was about to stand, the door to the Inn opened once again. He wouldn’t have paid much attention except for the fact that the man looked out of place in the Inn, and probably would have anywhere. He was dark-skinned, wearing a plum-colored tunic and garish green hat, complete with feather plume. The man walked in as if he owned the establishment, a smirk seemed to be permanently affixed. Turning his head, the man looked around the room as if searching for something. Eventually, the man’s eyes landed on their table, he and Gendry locking eyes. Slowly the man navigated his way through the crowd, the other patrons giving him curious stares and a wide berth.

As the man stood before them, wide grin still shining, he spoke. “Greetings, my friends. Would you mind if I take a seat? No? Thank you.” Without even giving them a chance to talk the man had taken a seat next to Pod, leaning back in his chair and resting his right boot on his left knee.

“Is there something we can do for you?” Arya asked.

“As a matter of fact there is. But how rude of me, I have not introduced myself.” Removing his hat, the man bowed to them. “My name is Salladhor Saan, Prince of the Narrow Sea.”

“I wasn’t aware that bodies of water were now ruled over by princes,” Arya frowned.

“It’s more of titled earned by reputation,” Saan smiled.

“You look like a pirate,” Arya snapped back.

“I dabble in many trades upon the sea.”

“So…a nice way of saying pirate,” Arya repeated. “What is it exactly that you want with us?”

“Ah, a lady who gets straight to business. I like that,” Saan laughed. “Imagine my surprise today, when I see the face of my dear old friend Davos, wandering the streets of Ragman’s Harbor. I was shocked, you see. The last I had heard of my friend Davos, he was still wandering the wild north of Westeros with King Stannis.”

“Stannis is dead,” Gendry advised.

“Yes, yes, this I know,” Saan stated, dismissively. “And how unfortunate it is, because good King Stannis owes Salladhor Saan a very large amount of gold, and compensation for the ships that Salladhor Saan lost ferrying King Stannis’ army up and down the coast. How is it that I am supposed to collect this money now?”

“You’ll have to ask Stannis in the afterlife,” Arya responded, impatience for this man clearly bleeding into her tone. “Where is Davos?”

“Safe and sound…for the moment,” Saan smiled again. “It was Davos who convinced me to sail with that fool Stannis. And what did it get me? Nothing! Only made me poorer. Which brings me to my presence here. You see, Davos is a little too trusting. He was under the impression that I value our friendship more than I do my money and my ships. I invite him for a drink and he made the mistake of telling me he was looking for a ship to take the new Lord of Storm’s End home. Well, me, being a pirate as you were so kind to point out, decided that if I cannot collect from Stannis, I should collect from his kin.”

“You’re ransoming Davos?” Gendry asked leaning forward in his seat, wanting to grab the pirate by the throat.

“Ransoming is such harsh term, my friend. Let’s say I am holding Davos as collateral until I am paid what is due.”

“And what is it exactly your asking for?” Gendry questioned.

“One thousand gold dragons sounds fair to me,” Saan responded.

“We don’t have that much gold,” Arya growled.

“You are in luck, then. The Iron Bank is just a short walk away. I am sure that they would supply the gold to a great Westerosi lord.” Saan stood from his seat, restoring his hat to his head. “Frankly, my friends, I don’t care where you get my money from. Get it and I will return Davos to you, unharmed.”

“What’s to stop us from beating you to a pulp, tying you up and ransoming you back to your crew for Davos?” Gendry questioned, already envisioning smashing his fist into the man’s face repeatedly.

Saan laughed. “The difference, my friends, is that my crew would likely tell you to kill me. There’s alway someone else who wants to be captain.”

“Where will we find you?” Arya questioned, her eyes boring into the pirate. Gendry placed his hand on her knee as a precaution.

“My ship, the Valyrian, is anchored south of the fish market. Bring me my money and I will release my good friend Davos. I trust we will be seeing each other again soon.” Salladhor Saan bowed again, before sauntering away, leaving the Inn of the Green Eel.

“What do we do now?” Pod questioned.

Arya stood from her chair, looking to where the pirate had just exited. “We get Davos back.”

“And we do that how? We can’t afford to pay them,” Gendry reminded.

Arya grabbed her pack from below the table and looked at Gendry expectantly. “I told you that I didn’t want to be No One…not that I can’t be if the situation calls for it. I’m going to go introduce Salladhor Saan to the God of Death.” Arya grabbed the key to one of their rooms from Gendry and headed for the stairs.

Gendry looked at Podrick with a resigned sigh. “Let’s go.”

“We’re about to go into a fight massively outnumbered again, aren’t we?” Pod questioned.

“I’d say the numbers are even,” Gendry replied reaching for his own pack. “We have an Arya Stark and they don’t.”


	7. Chapter 7

They waited until night fell and the streets of the city began to thin. Gendry, Podrick, and Arya had each strapped a sword to their back, and covered themselves in concealing traveling cloaks. Gendry regretted that he could not bring his hammer, but the size of it was not conducive to walking inconspicuously through the streets of Braavos. He had watched in astonishment as Arya tucked away knives in every nook she could find on her body. The three made their way back down to the main floor of the Inn, lost in the night crowd that had become larger and more boisterous. Without drawing any attention, they pushed through the patrons and snuck out into the night.  
  
As Gendry and Pod had never been residents of the city, they followed Arya without question as she led them determinedly through the streets, over bridges and through hidden alleys. They travelled farther and farther south through the city until the pungent stench of rotten fish began to invade Gendry’s nose. The market stalls had long since been closed for the day, but the remnant of the sellers’ wares still remained. Arya’s quickened pace trailed off as they turned fully into the market.  
  
As expected, the market itself was almost devoid of activity. Most of the merchants had retired for the evening or were exploring their vices in one of Braavos’ many inns or brothels. Even the docks had cleared out for the most part, the crews of the many fishing vessels seeking entertainment elsewhere. That was why it was so easy to pick out Salladhor Saan’s ship. The Valyrian was docked at the far edge of market, and unlike the other abandoned vessels, it was still a hive of activity. The long dock the ship was tied to was full of sailors, many drinking and gambling. The lanterns on the ship’s deck were all lit, and Gendry could see even more men moving about.  
  
“We won’t be able to sneak up on them,” Gendry worried, whispering into Arya’s ear.  
  
“Not all of us, no,” Arya agreed. She turned and looked back at he and Pod. “I’ll create a distraction on the ship and find Davos.”  
  
“Arya, that’s a huge ship. There could be another hundred men below deck. I know how good you are, but even you have your limits,” Gendry argued.  
  
“There aren’t a hundred men on that ship,” Arya countered. “Saan is so desperate for gold that he’s holding his own alleged friend hostage. I doubt he could fully afford to crew that ship, even if he wanted to. What we see is what he has.”  
  
“And what are we supposed to do while you are gone?”  
  
“Once I create the diversion, you and Pod will take out the men on the dock,” Arya instructed.  
  
“There are twenty men on the dock,” Pod nervously whispered.  
  
Arya scoffed. “Twenty sailors who have been drinking for hours. The dock is narrow. They won’t be able to rush you all at once, so it will even the odds. Knock them into the water if you have to.” That was her last word before she drew down her hood even further and scurried towards the water’s edge. Gendry watched intensely as she stealthily moved towards an empty dock, out of sight of the Valyrian, before propelling her body into the dark waters of the harbor and out of sight.  
  
Staring after her for a moment longer, Gendry shook himself, tapping Pod on the shoulder. “Let’s go. We need to move closer.” Crouching close to the fish stalls, they slowly maneuvered their way until they were a short sprint away from the Valyrian’s dock. Gendry reached behind his back and detached his sword, Pod quickly following his lead. Looking around, Gendry noticed that the owner of the stall beside them had been recently making repairs, as a large box of tools sat abandoned in a corner. Shifting over until he could reach the box, his hand rooted inside until he found what he was looking for. The hammer was crudely made, but it was still solid. He twirled it in his hand, getting a feel for its weight, before he scuttled back over to Pod.  
  
“Find something you like?” Podrick questioned.  
  
“The heart wants what it wants,” Gendry smirked, holding up the hammer. “I like bashing things more than cutting.”  
  
“Dead is dead,” Pod shrugged.  
  
Gendry turned his attention back to the Valyrian, searching for any sort of indication of Arya. His eyes scanned from the bow to the stern, watching as the sailors moved about. As his eyes roamed again to the stern, he noticed a movement…something falling over the side of the ship. He shuffled closer to get a better look, and once again saw something falling…then another…and another. It did not take long to realize that bodies were going overboard into the harbor. Gendry’s eyes shifted to the men on the dock, but by some drunken miracle, they had not been alerted to the intermittent splashes…splashes that had slowly begun to move around to the port side.  
  
Bodies continued to fall, until after a few moments they ceased. Gendry strained his eyes, wondering if something had happened. It was silent for minutes, and he became increasingly worried…until he saw smoke begin to billow around the ship. The smoke increased steadily until Gendry saw the first lick of dancing orange flame. Shouts began to sound from the ship, and the men on the dock began to stand and turned their heads.  
  
Gendry straightened himself from his crouch, sword held tightly in his left hand, while his right gripped the stolen hammer. “I think that may be the signal, Pod,” Gendry commented. He didn’t wait for the knight to reply, taking off in a run towards the dock. All of the sailors had turned towards the commotion on the ship, so the first man that Gendry encountered had little chance when he drove his sword through his back and out his stomach. The man screamed in agony as his guts were skewered, drawing the attention of the sailor beside him. The long-haired man attempted to reach to his belt to draw his own sword, but before he could, Gendry swung a devastating blow with his hammer, almost ripping off the sailor’s jaw from his face, the body falling limp to the ground.  
  
Gendry struggled to pull his sword from the first victim’s torso, giving the other sailors a chance to collect themselves and advance. He barely managed to dodge an incoming attack, when Pod arrived blocking the next strike and countering with one of his own. Finally managing to free his sword, Gendry barreled forward, driving his shoulder into a dark skinned sailor and sent him head first into the harbor. The man’s head caromed off the side of the ship and his body sunk out of sight. The smoke around them was beginning to thicken and Gendry saw that the mast of the galley had begun to burn as well, flames crawling up the wood and lighting the sails. Knowing that Arya was still on the ship, he started to push forward harder, killing anything that stood in his way. Whether it was from excess drink, or lack of skill, the sailors fell one after the other, their blood now staining both the dock and Gendry’s clothes.  
  
He ran to the ship, coughing as the smoke choked him. He could barely see as he ascended the gangplank and reached the deck. His feet tripped over bodies, some with slit throats and others poked full of holes. He pulled his cloak up over his face, trying to shield it from the smoke as he moved about and searched the ship. The heat was stifling, and he felt sweat pouring from his skin, soaking and weighing down his clothes. A stumbling sailor rushed towards him, and Gendry threw his hammer. The tool smashed into the sailor’s sternum, bringing to a sudden halt. As the man gasped in pain, Gentry gripped his sword with two hands and severed his head from his body.   
  
Barely giving the falling corpse a second glance, Gendry continued on blindly, until he felt something hit his back. He spun on his heels, sword raised, but too late as he felt a point digging into his throat. Though the blade had pierced his skin, he sighed in relief when he stared down into Arya’s grey eyes. Her faced was lined with blood and ash, but she looked unharmed otherwise. She quickly realized it was him and lowered Needle from its deadly perch.  
  
“Have you found Davos?” Gendry questioned.  
  
Arya shook her head, a look of chagrin on her face. “There were more men than I’d assumed. I haven’t reached the Captain’s cabin. He’ll likely be there.”  
  
“Right.” They moved quickly across the deck towards the stern, avoiding flaming debris falling from overhead as they went. Eventually they reached the doors to the cabin, and they could see light and movement from inside. “Step back,” Gendry ordered, moving Arya behind him. “On three. One…two…three!” On the last count he brought his boot up and kicked into the center of the double doors. They crashed inwards, opaque glass panels shattering, as his foot drove through them. The light inside revealed a room occupied by five men. Davos was tied to a chair behind a large ornate desk, Salladhor Saan standing looking frantic behind him. Three crewman, all with swords drawn, stood between them and Davos.  
  
“My friends,” Saan greeted, fear clearly underlying his high-pitched squeak. “I had hoped that we could come to an amicable arrangement, and yet now my beautiful ship is burning. What is this madness you have started?”  
  
“I warned you, you greedy fool,” Davos muttered, pulling at his bindings. “You picked the wrong fucking group of people to extort gold from.”  
  
“It appears so,” Saan frowned, his fight leaving him. “Take Davos and go. Be gone.”  
  
“I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen,” Arya responded. “There can’t be any witnesses. You’ll turn us over to the Sealord and we’ll be in a cell by morning. You’re going down with your ship, captain.”  
  
Gendry barely had a chance to comprehend Arya’s words before she moved with amazing speed, thrusting Needle through one of the sailor’s throats. Gendry shook off his surprise, moving and locking blades with another man. He blocked the man’s sword to the side and drove his fist harshly into the side of his head. His opponent dropped to the ground, and Gendry pushed his sword into the man’s side and through his heart. Turning he saw Arya had already finished off the third man, leaving them alone with Saan and Davos. Before he or Arya could get closer, Saan pulled a dagger from his belt and placed it at Davos’ neck.  
  
“Not a step closer, or I spill smuggler blood!” Saan warned. “If I don’t walk out of here alive, then neither does my good friend Davos. Drop your weapons!”  
  
Gendry looked to Arya, who simply nodded, dropping Needle to the floor. Gendry’s own sword followed soon after.  
  
“Good, good, my friends,” Saan relaxed. “A wise decision. Now walk outside to the dock, and Davos and I will follow after.”  
  
Gendry looked to Arya again, but she showed no sign of moving this time. Instead, he watched as her right arm gave a small shimmy, and something glinted as it fell into her hand. In a graceful twist, her arm extended and the small blade flew through the air, embedding itself through the left eye of Salladhor Saan. The man, in noticeable shock as the life began to leave him, stumbled back into the wall and fell. He tried to speak, but his voice simply gurgled, and he slid to the floor, dead. They all stared at the body for a moment, but were forced to seek shelter as a piece of the crumbling ceiling fell in between them, the flames beginning to spread faster.  
  
“We need to go now!” Gendry shouted, moving around the flaming boards that had fallen to Davos. He reached down and pried the dagger out of Saan’s dead hand and cut away the restraints on Davos’ wrists. He helped Davos stand and they ambled toward the door where Arya was waiting expectantly. They exited the cabin and walked straight into a fiery nightmare. The smoke was so thick now that they could barely see a foot in front of them. Fiery shards were falling from the sky, and Gendry winced as one caught him in a glancing blow to the cheek. They inched their way toward the gangplank where they found an anxious Podrick.  
  
“We’ve drawn half the city,” Pod hissed. Gendry leaned his head over the railing, and sure enough the market was now teaming with watchers.   
  
Gendry pulled back and shook his head. “We can’t go that way. We’ll never leave Braavos if we do.”  
  
“Only one way to go then,” Arya sighed. Climbing atop the rail, she dived over the side of the ship and back into the harbor. Gendry, feeling the heat of the flames at his back, barely hesitated before he jumped after her. The drop pulled him under, and the water was a relief from the heat, but only for a moment as the cool temperature began take effect. He swam a bit as two more splashes came behind him. He only gave a glance to make sure that Pod and Davos had emerged before he swam hard after Arya.

 

 

It was late when they finally entered back into the Inn. They had swam a good distance away towards the other end of the market before they found a place that they could climb up without being noticed. The four had done their best to dry themselves and look unsuspicious as they traversed the city, which was now alive with activity as the smoke plume from the burning ship hung high over the city. Gendry breathed a sigh of relief as they took a seat at a table in the Inn, full cups of wine before them. It was far from the best he had tasted, but it still seemed to warm and calm his tense body all the same. He looked over at Davos who had already downed his second cup.  
  
“Sorry for the trouble,” Davos sighed, shaking his head in dismay and embarrassment. “Can’t even trust a fucking friend these days. Should have just left me there.”  
  
“You risked your life for me once, Davos. Fitting I should do the same,” Gendry answered.  
  
“I opened a cell and put you in a boat. I didn’t take on a galley full of armed sailors.”  
  
“They weren’t much,” Arya shrugged, sipping at her cup. “Still, we should leave as soon as possible. No need to risk repercussions from this.”  
  
“Agreed,” Davos replied, Gendry and Pod as well.  
  
They sat and drank an hour more before they escaped to their rooms for the night. Gendry and Arya helped each other out of their damp clothing, both sliding into the bed bare. They were turned to face each other, Gendry running his hand casually along Arya’s side. Arya reached out and rubbed his cheek, causing him to flinch as she touched the burn.  
  
“Is it bad?” He questioned.  
  
“Don’t think so. Just a little red.”  
  
“Hopefully it won’t blister. Can’t waltz into Storm’s End looking like I have some sort of pox.”  
  
“You’ll live,” Arya laughed, before letting her hand fall away and closing her eyes.  
  
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Gendry asked, his hand now running through her hair.  
  
“I killed…a lot,” she whispered. “It doesn’t bother you…scare you.”  
  
“You don’t scare me, Arya. You’ve faced things in your short life that most could hardly ever comprehend. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t what you are.”  
  
“You’ve become a bloody romantic,” Arya sighed. “That sounds like something out of one of Sansa’s stories.”  
  
“Quiet. I was trying to be sincere.”  
  
“I guess it’s fine every once in awhile.”  
  
“Admit it, you liked it.”  
  
“Shut up, you stupid bull.”  
  
“I’m a stag now actually. I’ll have to craft a new helm now…something with large antlers with sharpened steel points.”  
  
“That’s sounds anything but practical, but let’s worry about making it to Storm’s End first. Then you can smith to your heart’s content. I’ll let you play with your little hammer while I run things.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Gendry replied, his voice tailing off as sleep began to take him. “And my hammer isn’t little.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Gendry could barely suppress a yawn from breaking through as they exited the door of the Inn of the Green Eel, for what he hoped would be the final time. It was barely dawn in Braavos, and there was a lingering fog over the Harbor blocking out what meager light there was. Yet, most captains were early risers, eager to set sail, so it was their best chance to find a transport leaving right away. They had managed to escape any repercussions from the previous night’s fiery activities, but Gendry knew that he would not feel safe again until the city was well behind them.  
  
Hauling his pack up more securely on his shoulder, he bit down into a hunk of the freshly baked bread that they had purchased from the Inn to break their fast. It was still warm and he felt his body awaken just a little at the sustenance. To his left, he watched Arya walk as if the early hour did not affect her one bit, just shaking his head in envy. Davos walked ahead of them, with a weary Podrick ambling a few steps behind. The Onion Knight was discerning the line of vessels, looking for ones that might suit their need. Some were small fishing ships, clearly not made for long journeys south…others had captains and crews that looked like they may slit their throats in the night at the first opportunity.  
  
They walked for about an hour, with little success to show, when Podrick stopped in his tracks, staring at something in the distance. Davos, realizing that something had drawn the young man’s attention, stopped as well. “What is it?” Davos questioned.   
  
“That ship up there,” Pod responded, pointing out a large galley docked ahead. “I know that sigil…there on the mast. The yellow suns and white crescents of House Tarth.”  
  
Davos looked back to where Pod was pointing, and Gendry looked as well, seeing the the knight was correct. A large banner was blowing in the breeze, unfurled, showing that the ship sailed in the name of House Tarth.”  
  
“Hmm. Maybe our luck is looking up,” Davos commented, before looking back at Gendry. “Not only do we happen to be traveling with the heir to Tarth’s former squire, but House Tarth is also a sworn bannerman to House Baratheon.”  
  
“That is convenient, Davos,” Arya smiled, before turning to Gendry. “Don’t you think so, Lord Gendry Baratheon?”  
  
“It would seem so,” Gendry replied, with less enthusiasm.  
  
They walked on down the Harbor until they found themselves in front of the target ship, and apparently just in time, as the crew was beginning final preparations to release from the dock. Davos ran ahead, getting the attention of one of the crew members. “You there!” Davos shouted. “Might we have a word with your captain?”  
  
The crewman, just a sandy-haired teen by the look of him, raised his brow. “And who should I say is askin’?”  
  
“I am Ser Davos Seaworth, and I travel with Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End,” Davos recited.  
  
Hearing the word lord, the boy shot up, nodding his head, then retreating back into the ship. They waited several minutes on the dock until another figure emerged, tall, with scraggly dark hair pulled back behind his head. The man was an intimidating figure, but there was a curious look on his face as he stood before them.  
  
“Morning,” the captain greeted them. “My name’s Wyllam. My deckhand just informed me that the Onion Knight and Lord of Storm’s End were seeking my attention. Funny thing is, I seem to recall that all of the Baratheons are dead.”  
  
Davos looked back at Gendry, and he could see something in Davos’ grin that he knew was trouble. “Gendry, would you care to provide an explanation for the the captain?”  
  
Gendry scowled at his friend, before gathering his wits and turning back to the captain.   
  
“Had you said that a week ago, captain, you would have been correct,” Gendry stated. “It’s true, Robert, Stannis and Renly are all dead. However, Robert Baratheon was my father. I was a bastard for most of my life, until I was legitimized by Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I am Gendry Baratheon now, and the claim to Storm’s End belongs to me.”  
  
“I’ll give it to you that you look like a Baratheon,” the captain offered. “But am I just supposed to take your word on all this?”  
  
“If you won’t take his word, then take mine,” Arya spoke up. “I am Arya Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Gendry is Lord Baratheon.”  
  
“And if you won’t take her word, take mine,” Podrick began, as he stepped up beside Arya. “My name is Ser Podrick Payne, and I was squire to Ser Brienne of Tarth, heir to Tarth, and daughter of your Lord.”  
  
Wyllam looked at the four of them with bewilderment on his face, running a hand along the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t know why, but for some reason I believe you. What exactly is it you need from me?”  
  
“We need passage to Storm’s End, though if you can get us to Tarth, that would do,” Gendry answered.  
  
“We can pay for the cabin space and rations,” Arya added.  
  
“Well, seeing as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is seeking passage on my ship, I don’t rightly see how I could refuse. Though, we are getting ready to set off, so better hurry and get on board.”  
  
“Thank you for the assistance, captain,” Gendry stated, doing his best to sound serious, and not like a bastard blacksmith. “It won’t be forgotten.”  
  
“Huh. We’re just a simple merchant ship milord. It’s not every day we get to ferry lords and ladies down the coast,” the captain grinned. “Maybe I can even get the story of how in the name of the gods Starks and Baratheons ended up on Braavos needing a ride.”  
  
“It’s a long fucking story, captain,” Davos sighed. “I hope you have plenty of wine aboard before we tell it.”

 

The voyage south had been for the most part uneventful. The winds had been strongly in their favor, and the weather itself was pleasant. They had one minor entanglement upon passing Pentos. A small ship full of pirates had thought to try and board them, only to quickly learn that would be a mistake. When the ship had come too close, or just close enough from Arya’s point of view, she had picked up a spear and impaled the man at the helm, throwing the ship completely off course. Apparently the quick death of their man had soured them on another boarding attempt, and they were left alone for the remainder of the journey.  
  
Considering it the safer approach, they had hugged the coast of Essos for the majority of the journey south. Upon passing Blackwater Bay and King’s Landing, and about a week into their journey, they began the gentle turn west toward Tarth. As they turned into the Straits of Tarth, Gendry found himself alone at the bow. He stared at the large island on his left, and the Stormlands to his right, and for the first time felt a pressing anxiety begin to take hold on him. Up north, so very far away, this had all just been words. Now it was real, right before his eyes. He was to be the lord of these people… settle their disputes, to protect them and see to their needs…and that was only after he convinced the other lords to stand behind him.  
  
“Must be something,” a voice from behind him called. Gendry looked back and saw the captain approaching.  
  
“What’s that?” Gendry questioned.  
  
“Setting eyes on the Stormlands for the first time,” Wyllam responded, moving beside him. The man hadn’t spoke often to Gendry during their journey, but he found the captain to be pleasant. “Speaking as a bastard myself, can’t imagine how I would feel finding out I was to be lord over them.”  
  
“Still don’t believe it’s real,” Gendry sighed, hand picking at a splintered piece of wood on the bow. “Seeing how I am walking into this blindly, can you tell me about them? The only person who has been able to tell me much is Davos, and he’s been away for years, trying to keep lesser men with better titles in line.”  
  
“It’s been quiet to tell it true, my lord. The people have no love for the Queen, but after Renly died, and Stannis was beaten at the Blackwater, we’ve just been trying to carry on with no Lord in Storm’s End to steer us. The other lords have kept their heads down, trying to avoid any prying eyes from the capital…especially after what happen to the Tyrells.”  
  
“Who holds Storm’s End now?”  
  
“Stannis left Ser Elwood Meadows and Ser Gilbert Farring to look after the castle in his stead. No one’s seen to run them out, so they must be doing a well enough job.” Seeing the frown on Gendry’s face, Wyllam tapped his arm. “Don’t worry yourself, lad. Storm’s End needs a lord, and no one better fitting then the son of a Baratheon. You’ll do well, I know it.”  
  
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Gendry thanked, though his skepticism remained. They remained quiet for some time, simply watching as the ship moved closer to the western coast of Tarth. Eventually, Gendry could see the seat of House Tarth, Evenfall Hall, up on a hill on the coast, its tall walls and towers standing out, an imposing presence along the landscape. Their ship coasted into a small harbor, where another dozen ships or so were also tied up.  
  
“I’m afraid this is where I leave you,” Wyllam said, as he stood on the dock next to Gendry, Arya, Davos and Podrick. “I have a hold full of cargo that needs to be unloaded, then taken into town, and it’ll go twice as fast if I’m here to whip these lazy boys to work.”  
  
“We thank you again for the ride, Wyllam,” Gendry stated. “Would you do us one last favor and point us in the right direction?”  
  
“Tis a short journey, but a bit of a hike,” Wyllam said, pointing behind them. “Take those steps leading up the cliffside. They’ll take you up to the village and from there the castle is just on the other side. I’m sure Lord Selwyn will be eager to greet you, especially as you bring him news of Lady Brienne.”   
  
The Captain had not lied. Gendry believed himself to have greater than average endurance, but his chest was heaving, his lungs burning, as he finally reached the top of the steps that had been painstakingly carved onto the cliff face. Trying to steady his breathing, he looked back and saw Arya only laboring a bit a she reached the top. He held his hand out, pulling her up onto flat ground. Behind her, he could see both Podrick and Davos laboring up the final stairs, practically leaning on each other to stay standing.  
  
“You’re not going to die on me now, are you old man?” Gendry questioned, taking Davos’ pack from him to offer a bit of a reprieve.  
  
“Can’t say for sure,” Davos huffed, hands on his knees as he sucked in air.  
  
“Come on,” Gendry encouraged, handing the man back his pack. “Just a bit further and we’ll get you a nice featherbed for the night.”  
  
“Fuck a featherbed. I could collapse in a nice, soft bit of grass.”  
  
After they had all sufficiently gathered themselves, they continued on until they reached the small village that was built to the west of the castle. It was a mix of homes and craftsman’s shops, and people milled about the narrow streets going about their day. They received a few questioning looks from the inhabitants, but after a week at sea, their ragged appearance was enough to go unnoticed by most.  
  
As they walked, Gendry noticed a small blacksmith’s shop. A steady stream of smoke was billowing out of the chimney, while at the front, a young boy with a mop of dark hair pounded his hammer against a piece of heated steel. The sight of it stopped him in his tracks, unable to look away as visions of years toiling on the Street of Steel in King’s Landing came back to him. The others walked on, but Gendry wandered over until he was standing in front of the boy, who upon looking closer appeared to be in his early teens. In a small bucket to the boy’s side were an array of finished horseshoes. He reached into the bucket and pulled one out, inspecting the work. Realizing that the hammering had stopped, Gendry looked up and saw the boy staring at him, curiosity in his expression.  
  
“Can I help you, sir?” The boy asked.  
  
“I was just admiring your work,” Gendry answered, raising the shoe in his hand. “I’m a smith as well…or I used to be. Was an apprentice to a master armorer in King’s Landing.”  
  
“Truly?” The boy asked, respect in his gaze. “My father was the smith in the village for years. He started teaching me when I was young…well younger than I am now.”  
  
“Does he teach you still?”  
  
The boy looked away for a moment, but turned his head back quickly. “My father went north with Lord Stannis’ army. We haven’t heard any word of him, but we know what happened to Stannis…”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Gendry responded, not knowing what else to say. He handed the shoe back over to the boy. “Renly and Stannis weren’t very good lords. Hopefully the next Lord of the Stormlands will do a better job.” He began to walk away to catch up with the others, but turned after a few steps. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Elgin, sir,” the boy stated.  
  
“You should temper the steel longer,” Gendry advised, pointing to the shoe still in the boy’s hand. “It will strengthen the steel, but allow for better movement for the horse.”  
  
“I’ll try that, sir.”  
  
Gendry waved to the boy, then raised his pack higher on his shoulder, hurrying after the others. When he finally caught up to Arya, she raised her brow in question. “Where have you been?”  
  
“Making friends with my countrymen,” he answered.  
  
“Getting into trouble more likely.”  
  
“You have such little faith in me, yet I love you anyway.”  
  
“Maybe you’re just a masochist. Shall I insult you repeatedly next time we’re in a bed?”  
  
“Only if I can call you milady over and over at the top of my lungs while we’re fucking.”

 

The castle gates were wide open when they approached, so they made their way inside with little fanfare. The wandered for a bit until they found a found a steward going about his business, Davos gaining his attention.  
  
“Beg your pardon, but we are seeking an audience with Lord Tarth. Is he in the castle?”  
  
The steward gave them a frown. “My Lord is present. However, one cannot simply walk into the castle and request an audience on a whim. Who might you be to ask such?”  
  
“I am Ser Davos Seaworth, and I travel with Ser Podrick Payne, Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell and Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”  
  
The steward, immediately realizing he was not talking to some common small folk, straightened his posture. “I apologize, Ser,” the steward continued. “I believe Lord Tarth is still in his solar. If you’ll follow me, I will take you there and see if he is available to meet you.”  
  
“Much appreciated,” Davos thanked.  
  
They followed the steward up a set of steps until they were walking along the castle battlements. He led almost all the way around until they were overlooking the Straits of Tarth, where they entered a tower that was well lit by the numerous windows allowing sunlight through. The inside castle was well built and also well maintained by the look of it. They followed a corridor until they were outside a door with two Tarth guards standing outside.  
  
“Is Lord Tarth alone?” The steward asked the guards.  
  
“He is,” the one on the right responded.  
  
Nodding, the steward stepped forward, opening the door slightly and stepping inside. Gendry could hear the sound of conversation, and moments later the steward was opening the door wider and inviting them inside. Lord Tarth’s solar had a beautiful view of the water, and was dominated by a large desk, flanked by bookcases filled with thick tomes. Selwyn Tarth was an older man, his hair almost completely white with only a few wisps of gray peaking through. Gendry thought his face was kind though. The Lord was seated at his desk, several scrolls open in front of him, but his eyes were on his visitors. The steward was moving frantic behind them, grabbing chairs and arranging them in front of the his Lord’s desk.  
  
“Welcome, Ser Davos,” Lord Tarth greeted. “It is good to see you again. I would say under better circumstances, but I will reserve my judgment until I have heard the purpose of your visit.”  
  
“A reasonable stance, my lord,” Davos responded. “And I thank you for taking the time to see us so quickly. As to the reason for my visit, it is mostly to make an important introduction.” Davos looked over to Gendry. “My lord, may I present Gendry Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon and the rightful Lord of Storm’s End.”  
  
Lord Selwyn remained stoic. “I was under the impression that King Robert had no true born sons remaining…and I am being generous in the assumption that Joffrey and Tommen were ever his sons to begin with.”  
  
Gendry, feeling the need to take over, spoke up. “I am the son of Robert Baratheon, my lord. I was born a bastard, but was legitimized by royal decree of Daenerys Targaryen following my service in the Battle of Winterfell against the Night King.”  
  
“Battle against the Night King,” Lord Selwyn repeated, rubbing a hand along his chin. “Many rumors have circulated south about an army of dead men and a great battle taking place. I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to what to believe.”  
  
“There was a battle, my lord,” Arya spoke. “Our army met the Night King and his army in the field and struck him down, but at cost of many friends and soldiers. If you doubt our words, you should seek the word of your daughter. She fought in the battle as bravely as an man that day.”  
  
Lord Selwyn sat forward. “You know of Brienne?”  
  
“Ser Brienne is in Winterfell, serving as sworn protector of my sister, Lady Sansa. She is alive and well, I assure you. House Stark is indebted to your daughter for the service she has done us.”  
  
Lord Selwyn softened at the news of his daughter, sinking back into his chair. “It is good to hear that Brienne is well. It has been long since I have had word from her, not since Renly’s death and the accusations that were made against her.” Lord Selwyn looked back to Gendry. “I cannot deny that from your look there is no doubt that you are a Baratheon. What is it that you are here to ask of me.”  
  
“I mean to take my place as Lord of Storm’s End,” Gendry advised. “You are one of the most respected and powerful houses in the Stormlands, and it would go a long way with the other lords if I had your support behind me.”  
  
“And may I ask what House Stark’s purpose for being here is, Lady Arya,” Lord Selywn questioned.  
  
“House Stark and House Baratheon are to be joined, my lord,” Arya responded. “Gendry and I are to be married, and we will rule Storm’s End together as Lord and Lady Baratheon.”  
  
“A union of two great houses,” Lord Selwyn acknowledged, before turning back to Gendry. “The question is why should I offer my support? Robert drank and whored until he ended up murdered, Renly wanted to play at being king, and Stannis was so disliked that he had to resort to witchcraft. Why should I follow another Baratheon?”  
  
“I grew up in Flea Bottom, Lord Tarth,” Gendry answered. “I was a blacksmith’s apprentice for years, working day and night in a boiling forge just to earn my keep. I mean no disrespect to you, but I didn’t grow up in a castle, I didn’t live in privilege. I know what it means to be one of the folks overlooked and stepped on by people who sit in their high halls or on Iron Thrones. I didn’t know Robert or Stannis or Renly, but I do know they forgot about their responsibility to the people who depended on them. And I also know the importance of listening to the counsel of people who know better than you,” he finished, looking pointedly towards Arya and Davos.  
  
“Those are wise words, Lord Gendry,” Selwyn stated. “The houses have been divided for some time. These are dangerous times, and I think we would be much better served by being united…under a Baratheon banner.” Lord Selwyn stood, prompting Gendry to do the same. Selwyn held out his arm, and Gendry gripped it with his own. “House Tarth will offer its support to your claim Lord Gendry.”  
  
“Thank you, my lord,” Gendry grinned. “I will do my best to honor the faith you’ve shown.”  
  
“I believe it,” Selywn smiled. “Truthfully, the fact that you all have my daughter’s trust was enough for me. Now come, let’s get you all fed and rested, and we can talk more about the things that have been happening on the other side of the world.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Interlude: The Bastard of Winterfell

He had barely left his cabin since they left White Harbor. The thought of even talking to anyone was nauseating. His mind was in a jumble, and he felt as if he had made an enormous mistake leaving Winterfell. Jon had contemplated telling Sansa the truth of his parentage before leaving, but the two had argued so vehemently that he was afraid of destroying any remaining good feeling they may have toward each other.   
  
Although, it seemed that everyone was dissatisfied with him at the moment. Daenerys was furious with him because he had both refused to return her affection any longer upon the knowledge she was his aunt, and he had also refused to make Lord Manderly fall in line with her cause. When they had arrived at White Harbor, Lord Manderly had refused his request for additional soldiers. Sansa had apparently whispered her orders into the man’s ear, and he had declined to disobey his Lady’s command. He had stood next to Daenerys at the news, and he could practically feel the fury radiating off of her. Jon could not lie…he had feared that she would burn White Harbor in that moment. Just as with Sansa, Daenerys had made the threat known that there would be repercussions. He had a feeling that she meant it, and it tore at him inside. These were his people she was damning, threatening to turn to ash.  
  
There was a knock at his door, and he briefly thought of just ignoring it, but the person on the other side was persistent. “Enter,” he sighed  
  
The door opened, and in entered the Hand of The Queen, Tyrion Lannister. “Lord Snow,” the dwarf greeted as he closed the door behind.  
  
“Tyrion,” Jon barely acknowledged.  
  
“You have been conspicuously absent,” Tyrion noted. “Is there something troubling you?”  
  
“The list of things troubling me is endless,” Jon quipped.  
  
“I understand that there has been some tension between you and our Queen since the battle. I’m curious as to why.”  
  
Jon reached for a skin of wine at his bedside and took a hearty swig. “You want to know why things are tense? I was fucking my aunt.”  
  
Tyrion looked on in utter confusion. “I am afraid I am at a loss for what that means.”  
  
“Daenerys is my fucking aunt,” Jon articulated. “Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna Stark and they fucked, and they had me. How is that for tense?”  
  
Tyrion was clearly floored. “How do you know of this?”  
  
“Sam found out about the marriage in a book in the Citadel, and Bran saw the marriage and my birth in his visions.”  
  
“If what you say is true, then that would make you-“  
  
“Nothing!” Jon interrupted. “It doesn’t make me anything, because I don’t want it to.”  
  
Tyrion gave him a patronizing stare. “It makes you what it makes you, despite how you feel about it. You are the heir to the Iron Throne.”  
  
“I may have been, but the Targaryens lost the Throne. They were deposed and their dynasty ended.”  
  
“And when Daenerys takes it back, it will begin again. And you are the one with the better claim.”  
  
“I don’t fucking care about my claim, Tyrion. I will renounce it. I do renounce it. To everyone else I’m a bastard, and that is what I will remain.”  
  
“And you expect to remain at Daenerys’ side? Every time she makes an unpopular decision, and she will, you will be there in the background as a potentially better option for the Throne. How long do you think she will tolerate that?”  
  
“I have no idea.”  
  
“Well you may not like this, but you should marry her,” Tyrion stated. “You could rule together, and avoid the whispers that would follow you everywhere you go.”  
  
“I am not going to marry my aunt, Tyrion,” Jon growled. “Just because you spent years around siblings who liked to fuck each other, does not mean that it is accepted elsewhere. I don’t accept it.”  
  
“The Targaryens married within their family for generations.”  
  
“Yes, well I was raised a Stark. I’m not a Targaryen, and I have no care to be one.”  
  
“What do you think will happen when Daenerys takes the Throne? What do you think will happen when Sansa continues to defy her?”  
  
“She won’t harm Sansa.” The words left his mouth, but he could not say he truly had faith in them.  
  
“Won’t she?” Tyrion countered. “After everything you know of her, of what’s she’s done in Essos, you don’t believe she will attack her enemies if she feel her power questioned? You are being naive.”  
  
“Says the man who though Cersei Lannister was going to march her forces north to our aid. Maybe I am naive. But I won’t allow it to happen.”  
  
“I’d be careful of your words, they reek of challenge,” Tyrion advised. “And if you truly want to protect your family, what better way then ruling beside the Queen. Keep her in check.”  
  
“She should not need to be kept in check to begin with,” Jon answered.  
  
“Are you questioning whether she should be Queen?”  
  
“Maybe. I’m questioning everything at the moment. Though it may not matter, because we may be walking into a battle that we cannot win.”   
  
“It will matter if Daenerys hears you say these things.”  
  
“I’ve been dead, Tyrion. There are few things that terrify me, and she is not one of them.”  
  
“You say that now, but may not when your body is alight with dragon fire.”  
  
“We’ll see,” Jon sighed, tired of the conversation. “Where are we?”  
  
“Approaching Claw Isle. We should be to Dragonstone shortly.”  
  
Jon stood and passed by Tyrion, walking out of his cabin and ascending to the deck of the Queen’s flagship. The weather was clear, and he had to admit it felt good to breathe in a bit of the fresh sea air rather than the stuffiness of his cabin. He saw the Queen near the helm, surrounded by Grey Worm and Missandei, as was normal. He stared a moment, not catching her eye, before walking slowly to the bow. Dozens of their ships sailed beside them, but unlike their original journey north, they were now substantially less filled. It was not ideal. Up ahead, Drogon and Rhaegal were flying, the former gliding through the air, while the latter continued to struggle mightily.  
  
Jon noticed that for some reason they had decided to sail their fleet between Claw Isle and Cracklaw Point, squeezing through the narrow passage rather then sticking to open sea to the east. Ahead to the west, he could see the Whispers, an abandoned and ruined castle that stood on the coast of Cracklaw Point. He looked at the ruins for just a moment, prepared to turn his head, but then something caught his eye. In the castle’s two towers that still remained standing, the flickering of orange flames began to burn bright, thick black smoke beginning to cloud the air. Jon instantly felt something was amiss. There could be no coincidence that fires would burn in an abandoned castle at the exact instance their fleet approached.  
  
Jon turned, ready to run towards the rear of the ship and alert Daenerys, but was stopped as piercing, high pitched cries filled the air. He whipped around, watching as the dragons fluttered up an down in the sky. It was immediately evident why. Underneath Crackclaw Point was a small, hidden cove, and out of it began to pour dozens and dozens of ships…bearing the Greyjoy Kraken. Massive scorpion bolts were slicing through the air at the defenseless dragons, tearing into their thick hide. He could hear Daenerys behind him screaming, but there was nothing to do but look on in terror. Already bearing the burden of his existing wounds, Rhaegal plummeted from the sky, no less than ten bolts impaling him. There was an enormous splash as the beast hit the water. Rhaegal sunk and did not emerge again.   
  
Drogon was not willing to go without a fight, beating his giant wings to fly out of range of the scorpions. The black dragon flew east in the direction of Claw Isle, but as he did so, Jon saw another disheartening sight. At least one thousand men stood on the island’s western coast, all appearing to be armed with bows. The sky darkened as a wall of arrows sailed through the air and bludgeoned Drogon, who was staggered as they tore into his wings. While the first volley had looked to be comprised of standard arrows, the second volley took to the air with tips aflame. The fiery arrows struck Drogon, and Jon realized he had been mistaken… the first arrows had not been simple arrows…they had been dipped in wildfire. As the second round of arrows hit, a shocking wall of green flame blew through the air, dousing Drogon in a burning haze of green hellfire. Drogon screamed and flailed, wings now almost completely dissolved away. Daenerys’ last dragon tried to fly back towards their fleet, but just as he was almost to them, his wings finally failed.   
  
Jon looked on, too stunned to move, as the burning dragon was headed straight towards their flagship. Drogon fell fast, until his seemingly lifeless form slammed into the rear of the ship. Jon finally caught the Queen’s eye, right before Drogon hit. There was nothing but utter disbelief behind them. Their brief connection was broken suddenly as everything on the ship’s stern, including the Queen and her retainers, exploded, green flames licking the wooden beams and spreading unrestrained. A wall of unbearable heat struck Jon, and he felt his body thrown backwards like a leaf in the wind. The next thing he knew his body was floating in the sea, and he watched as the bow of the flagship was now straight up in the air, slowly sinking to the depths.  
  
As the dragons had fallen, the Greyjoy ships had refocused their attention on the Queen’s fleet. Scorpion bolts tore into the ships' hulls, while the Kraken ships rammed into the fleet. The archers on Claw Isle continued to rain arrows down, and Jon watched helplessly as the Unsullied, Dothraki, and northerners were ripped apart by steel missiles. To make matters worse, the wildfire had spread to surrounding ships and was beginning to slowly eat away at them. The men on board screamed as their flesh was melted away. Realizing that the day, and likely their cause, was lost, Jon began to swim towards Crackclaw Point. As he swam, he saw a head of blond hair bobbing in front of him. He moved to the floating, unconscious form of Tyrion Lannister, throwing the dwarf over his shoulder, and praying for land to appear quickly.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
